A/N: usual disclaimers apply
The room was bare. Bare and empty. She stood in the centre in all her fearsome glory, almost lighting up the grey concrete that lined the walls, floor and ceiling. He stood in the doorway, staring at her. Emotionless. The one and only thing they shared as they stood in the room together - each refused to show any emotion. Stepping forward, he slammed the stainless steel door behind him and locked it. Now it was just the two of them. Him with his cold, merciless, bloodthirsty nature, and her with her heartwarming courage and bravery. He approached her and stared right into her eyes. She stared back. Her eyes wooden and unfeeling. He cupped her chin in his hand, almost forgetting that she wasn't real. Wasn't human. Stepping back, he admired the craftsmanship. He'd bought her from the armoury, currently owned by Rayne. She was a piece of training equipment, nothing more, but with a little persuasion he'd managed to get Ethan to change her features. She was now the perfect likeness of the Slayer. The surface padded and the limbs jointed, she was practically human. Taking a deep breath, he chanted a small and meaningless prayer for forgiveness and hoped that whatever supreme being that looked over him could forgive what his heart was about to unleash. Wiping away the tears that fell silently down his face he stood, his face inches from hers. Gazing into her black, fathomless, plastic eyes, his filled with sorrow then flared with hatred and frustration as his face contorted, fangs bared and muscles tensed. He grabbed the life-size doll by the neck and flung it across the room, invigourated by the satisfying *thunk* it made as the head hit the wall. He smiled sinisterly as he picked up the limp figure and returned her to her stand,
"Oh Slayer, you think you're so high and mighty. Fighting the good fight with all thy might and all that bloody jazz."
He took a step back and kicked out and up, his foot coming into contact with her neck, snapping back the head and knocking her into the wall with another *thunk* that made him laugh. Fixing her "broken" neck, he smiled as he noted the vertibrae fitted together like blocks of lego - he could break her neck as many times as he wanted and she couldn't complain at all. He returned her to her stand and walked around her noting that her finger nails were just about the right length as well. Ethan was observant.
"I don't see you beloved Angel fighting along side you...oh but that would be because he's gone to play with Darla and his psychotic slut of a Childe."
He balled his hands into one large fist and slammed it into the small of her back, knocking her to the floor.
"Oh they know how to paint the town red, I'll give them that." He picked her up by the scruff of the neck and continued to rant,
"But I don't think they'd use red-gloss, do you?" He walked around to look her in the face, "The brand *they* use comes from here." He tapped his chest where his unbeating heart sat cold and still.
"It spills to the floor like syrup and there's nothing you can do about it."
He stepped back and sighed,
"I asked you a simple question. A simple question which needed nothing more than a simple answer."
His voice was softening but his temper was growing.
"But what did you do?"
He dealt the doll a full roundhouse lick and followed it through with a swift uppercut to the jaw, again breaking her neck.
"You had to make it harder."
Again he restored her to her place in the centre of the room and he leant against the wall, his eyes boring into her dead, unfeeling back.
"Infact, even as I speak, you are wandering the town with your lackeys, hunting down my friends, destroying my enemies. All this time, your beloved Angel is out in the City of Angels, setting people on fire, ripping out their throats subjecting the people who he once helped to every physical torture he can contrive. While I...I'm just here. I've changed. I'm not the demon I used to be, I was never the demon you saw me as. The chip is gone and still I leave the people of Sunnydale untouched and all you can say is.....thankyou."
His voice cracked on the last word and his temper switched. He sank to his knees before the doll. She was inanimate, deaf , dumb, and blind. She was deaf to his anger and frustration and blind to the tears of pain and passion that now drew their familiar lines down his pale cheeks. Unable to take it any longer, Spike buried his face in his hands and sobbed. His body shook and his soft cries of heartbreak echoed throughout the concrete room, returning to him as the sounds he heard every morning as he cried himself to sleep. Wiping the tears from his face, he slowly brought himself up to stand and turned to go out again. He stopped and faced the effigy of the Slayer, his voice cracked and nothing more than a whisper,
"I'm sorry, Pet. Forgive me."
Unlocking the door to go out, Spike opened it and stared with a mixture of angry disbelief and heartfelt delight,
"Slayer."
Buffy looked at him, her expression jumbled just like her intentions,
"Vampire."
He noted that she wasn't armed and this confused him exceedingly, but not as much as what she did next did. The petite blonde smiled faintly and looked up at him expectantly, almost willing him to do something. He just frowned,
"What the hell are you doing here?"
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her,
"Shhh."
Ignoring the beaten up figure of herself, Buffy smiled faintly and pulled his head down for an innocent kiss. Puzzled beyond belief, Spike pulled away sharply, then looked her in the eyes. Those baby blues gave away nothing they shouldn't. They never did. His passion exceeding the mark, the vampire could no longer take it and pulled her closer, kissing her hungrily as the passion between them grew.
Suddenly doubting his own actions, the vampire stopped. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with the love he had needed from her for so long. Unable to contain his joy, he fell to his knees by her feet, the tears returning once more.
Kneeling beside him, the Slayer smiled fondly as he confessed his love to her and she to him. Then all tears stopped.
Spike sat in his armchair, Buffy's head rested on his chest, asleep. She wouldn't wake for hours yet. Smiling contentedly, Spike took another sip from his brandy and kissed the top of her head gently so as not to wake her. Nothing could compare to this. Nothing.
The room was bare. Bare and empty. She stood in the centre in all her fearsome glory, almost lighting up the grey concrete that lined the walls, floor and ceiling. He stood in the doorway, staring at her. Emotionless. The one and only thing they shared as they stood in the room together - each refused to show any emotion. Stepping forward, he slammed the stainless steel door behind him and locked it. Now it was just the two of them. Him with his cold, merciless, bloodthirsty nature, and her with her heartwarming courage and bravery. He approached her and stared right into her eyes. She stared back. Her eyes wooden and unfeeling. He cupped her chin in his hand, almost forgetting that she wasn't real. Wasn't human. Stepping back, he admired the craftsmanship. He'd bought her from the armoury, currently owned by Rayne. She was a piece of training equipment, nothing more, but with a little persuasion he'd managed to get Ethan to change her features. She was now the perfect likeness of the Slayer. The surface padded and the limbs jointed, she was practically human. Taking a deep breath, he chanted a small and meaningless prayer for forgiveness and hoped that whatever supreme being that looked over him could forgive what his heart was about to unleash. Wiping away the tears that fell silently down his face he stood, his face inches from hers. Gazing into her black, fathomless, plastic eyes, his filled with sorrow then flared with hatred and frustration as his face contorted, fangs bared and muscles tensed. He grabbed the life-size doll by the neck and flung it across the room, invigourated by the satisfying *thunk* it made as the head hit the wall. He smiled sinisterly as he picked up the limp figure and returned her to her stand,
"Oh Slayer, you think you're so high and mighty. Fighting the good fight with all thy might and all that bloody jazz."
He took a step back and kicked out and up, his foot coming into contact with her neck, snapping back the head and knocking her into the wall with another *thunk* that made him laugh. Fixing her "broken" neck, he smiled as he noted the vertibrae fitted together like blocks of lego - he could break her neck as many times as he wanted and she couldn't complain at all. He returned her to her stand and walked around her noting that her finger nails were just about the right length as well. Ethan was observant.
"I don't see you beloved Angel fighting along side you...oh but that would be because he's gone to play with Darla and his psychotic slut of a Childe."
He balled his hands into one large fist and slammed it into the small of her back, knocking her to the floor.
"Oh they know how to paint the town red, I'll give them that." He picked her up by the scruff of the neck and continued to rant,
"But I don't think they'd use red-gloss, do you?" He walked around to look her in the face, "The brand *they* use comes from here." He tapped his chest where his unbeating heart sat cold and still.
"It spills to the floor like syrup and there's nothing you can do about it."
He stepped back and sighed,
"I asked you a simple question. A simple question which needed nothing more than a simple answer."
His voice was softening but his temper was growing.
"But what did you do?"
He dealt the doll a full roundhouse lick and followed it through with a swift uppercut to the jaw, again breaking her neck.
"You had to make it harder."
Again he restored her to her place in the centre of the room and he leant against the wall, his eyes boring into her dead, unfeeling back.
"Infact, even as I speak, you are wandering the town with your lackeys, hunting down my friends, destroying my enemies. All this time, your beloved Angel is out in the City of Angels, setting people on fire, ripping out their throats subjecting the people who he once helped to every physical torture he can contrive. While I...I'm just here. I've changed. I'm not the demon I used to be, I was never the demon you saw me as. The chip is gone and still I leave the people of Sunnydale untouched and all you can say is.....thankyou."
His voice cracked on the last word and his temper switched. He sank to his knees before the doll. She was inanimate, deaf , dumb, and blind. She was deaf to his anger and frustration and blind to the tears of pain and passion that now drew their familiar lines down his pale cheeks. Unable to take it any longer, Spike buried his face in his hands and sobbed. His body shook and his soft cries of heartbreak echoed throughout the concrete room, returning to him as the sounds he heard every morning as he cried himself to sleep. Wiping the tears from his face, he slowly brought himself up to stand and turned to go out again. He stopped and faced the effigy of the Slayer, his voice cracked and nothing more than a whisper,
"I'm sorry, Pet. Forgive me."
Unlocking the door to go out, Spike opened it and stared with a mixture of angry disbelief and heartfelt delight,
"Slayer."
Buffy looked at him, her expression jumbled just like her intentions,
"Vampire."
He noted that she wasn't armed and this confused him exceedingly, but not as much as what she did next did. The petite blonde smiled faintly and looked up at him expectantly, almost willing him to do something. He just frowned,
"What the hell are you doing here?"
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her,
"Shhh."
Ignoring the beaten up figure of herself, Buffy smiled faintly and pulled his head down for an innocent kiss. Puzzled beyond belief, Spike pulled away sharply, then looked her in the eyes. Those baby blues gave away nothing they shouldn't. They never did. His passion exceeding the mark, the vampire could no longer take it and pulled her closer, kissing her hungrily as the passion between them grew.
Suddenly doubting his own actions, the vampire stopped. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with the love he had needed from her for so long. Unable to contain his joy, he fell to his knees by her feet, the tears returning once more.
Kneeling beside him, the Slayer smiled fondly as he confessed his love to her and she to him. Then all tears stopped.
Spike sat in his armchair, Buffy's head rested on his chest, asleep. She wouldn't wake for hours yet. Smiling contentedly, Spike took another sip from his brandy and kissed the top of her head gently so as not to wake her. Nothing could compare to this. Nothing.