It's easy to watch him when he doesn't know I'm here. He's just sitting at
the bar, having a drink, smoking a cigarette. He's the only one who gets
away with it in California, seriously. Did he threaten the bartender? Or
did he smoke with such an air of superiority that nobody questioned his
right to light up? Or was it just really not that big of a deal, a stupid
law anyway, that nobody paid attention to?
Whatever, it doesn't matter. And I'm not going to make a big deal of it. There are so few things he can actually get away with these days. He needs the little things-like smoking in the Bronze-to make him feel like the Big Bad again. To make him feel like he can do what he wants, when he wants; he's got a massive inferiority complex.... though he'd never admit to it.
I've been watching him a lot lately, since he's come back from Africa. It's easier to watch him than to talk to him. When he doesn't know he's being observed, he acts naturally; no posturing or snide remarks. His face is open, and sometimes he even smiles. I like it when he smiles now; it's genuine and warm. Mostly though he glares into his drink, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. Something is always on his mind.
He's got too many problems. I mean, other than the whole vampire thing. For one, he's an alcoholic. Well, I don't know if vampires can become addicted to alcohol, but he does drink far too much. He never drank before though, when he first came to town. I never did smell alcohol on him when we fought. I think losing Drusilla pushed him over the edge into the bottle. Not that it makes a difference, he is still one of the best fighters I have ever encountered, even when he is almost drunk off his ass.
The smoking thing bothers me too. Not because he's going to get lung cancer, but because I'm sure all the second hand smoke is going to kill me. There was a time where I thought that was his plan. He couldn't rip my lungs out himself, so he figured he'd just give me cancer. Of course, Spike isn't that patient, so I quickly rejected that idea.
Impatience. That's annoying. He always wants what he wants right that second. He never could stand to wait. Instant gratification is what Spike's all about. I swear, he often reminds me of a small child; he pouts and throws tantrums when he has to wait for something! It's ridiculous. He could have killed me if he had waited an extra 2 days. He confessed to me once that he wouldn't have done anything differently. He still would have attacked the school on Parent-Teacher night. Just because he was bored.
He's cruel. Sometimes it's ok, because we're bantering, or fighting. Sometimes, I know, it's a defense mechanism. But there are times when heo pens his mouth and says the coldest things, completely out of the blue. I've learned to ignore the pain it causes, but still, it unsettles me. How could he be almost kind one minute, and then rip out your heart and stomp on it the next? The only person who is not on the receiving end of his piercing barbs is Dawn. And sometimes Willow, but he'll even lash out at her if he's tired enough.
He still steals too. Even now that he has a soul and is fighting with the "white hats", he steals. It's not like he's stealing jewelry or clothes or breaking into people's houses. Mostly he just scares the clerk at the Circle K into giving him a pack of smokes, or intimidates somebody outside the liquor store into handing over their recently purchased booze. I'm still trying to figure out how to make him stop doing that. He thinks I don't notice, that I can't tell. Sometimes he underestimates me. He also hustles people out of their money in pool games. He claims that it's not his fault the boys from UC Sunnydale are so arrogant that they think they could beat him. I point out that they aren't aware he has over a century of practice. He just shrugs and says they should be more careful who they make bets with.
Stealing isn't the only hangover from his Big Bad days. He still acts like a predator. Most nights he'll sit with us and research, acting almost human. But other nights he'll stand in the corner, his eyes narrowed, his body tense and ready to pounce. I can see his eyes flashing yellow. He'll make my slayer-sense go haywire on these nights. He stalks people when we go to the Bronze, following them with his body or his eyes. I know that he doesn't plan on hurting them; it's just a natural reaction to being surrounded by all that blood. It makes me uncomfortable though, and I've asked him to stop. He promised to try.
He eats all of my food, and that really makes me angry. I'm not made of money, even if I do have a new job. Besides, he doesn't even need to eat my food! Dawn and I will die if we don't eat the macaroni and cheese, ham sandwiches, and ice cream. Spike won't. And yet he still just marches into my kitchen whenever a craving for nachos hit him, and proceeds to eat me out of house and home. Most times I demand that he replace the food, and other times I demand that he takes us out to eat for dinner since he ate ours for lunch, once in a while he actually will-to the Double Meat Palace. Other times I just hit him. At least he cleans up after himself...sometimes.
He tracks mud into the house, leaves bloody mugs in the sink, terrorizes the neighbor's dog, tells Dawn horrible stories, mocks Angel every chance he gets, plays practical jokes on Giles (though I have to admit, that's pretty funny)., regularly mugs Xander, flirts with any pretty girl that catches his eye (which causes an insane feeling of jealousy) intimidates Clem into buying him hot wings, and ignores me when all I want him to do is kiss me.
I can't hate him though because he paid Giles back for all the high quality alcohol he stole from him while he was living with him. Giles went home one day and found his cabinet fully stocked and a note that simply said "thanks" in Spike's fine hand-writing.
He offered to quit smoking around me and Dawn, and I haven't had to remind him not to smoke in the house for at least six months. I put an ashtray out on the porch for him. He didn't need it, but it was my way of thanking him. He even uses it.
When he came back from Africa, he gave me plenty of time and space, waiting for me to decide one way or the other what to do with him. He doesn't pressure me, and he never drops by without being invited first. He told me could wait for me, and while I didn't believe him at first, he proved himself. I had a lot of thinking to do.
He's funny. Behind the cruelty, his eyes dance with humor. Does he mean to hurt us? I don't know. But he always follows it up with a joke or smile. Sometimes he says the oddest things that catch me completely unawares, and I just can't help but laugh. When he makes me laugh, he shoots me a small, shy smile. I smile at him in return.
He gives me gifts. Nothing too fancy or expensive, just small tokens that make me smile. Sometimes a necklace, or flowers, or candy, or a finely carved stake. Whatever catches his eye and reminds him of me. One time I followed him on one of his shopping trips, and I was thrilled to see that at least he pays for my presents. I know he comes by his money legitimately- well, for Spike anyway.
I eat all of his food. I actually make myself at home in his crypt, and I feel kinda bad when I plow through an entire carton of ice cream while he watches me with something akin to horror on his face. He only buys the expensive kind, and I eat it like it's the store brand. He buys twice as much food as he usually would, and unlike me, he never complains about it or threatens to kill me over it. And me eating his food his completely different from him eating mine. If he didn't want me to eat his ice cream, why would he buy my favorite flavor?
He's moving now, his cigarette still hanging out of his mouth casually; coming towards me with a feline grace, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He's got a nice mouth. He brushes his teeth. I was surprised when I realized what that peppermint flavor was underneath the smoke and the alcohol. I know he doesn't get mouth decay, so I figured he must do it for me. Or maybe he does it for himself. He's a clean vampire. He showers and uses shampoo that smells like peaches. He probably thought I wouldn't notice, since he buries that smell under a glob of hair gel. I prefer it though when he doesn't slick his hair back, like tonight, it's hanging around his head in curls that just beg to be touched.
His clothes are always clean too. He doesn't always use my washer, and the thought of him in a Laundromat is almost too funny to entertain. But he never wears a dirty shirt if he can help it. He's anal to a fault, really. You'd think that a vicious vampire would be a little less concerned with how clean his crypt is. He nearly lost it when he came home and saw the mess that Clem (and Dawn) had made of his home. Or what was left of his home after I blew it up. 'A place for everything and everything in its place' is his motto. I thought Angel was bad with the anal retentive cleaning. Maybe that's where he gets it from? A mess of contradictions, that's Spike. He loves mindless destruction, and will take any chance he can get to destroy things, but he will not tolerate empty pizza boxes on the floor.
He's sitting at the table now, not talking, just watching me. That's fine, I don't have anything to say to him right now. I'm still trying to figure him out. His hand is grasping a half-empty beer bottle, and I noticed that his nails are clean and neatly trimmed. There is also blood on his fingertips, it almost looks like some whore's garish nail polish. He must have gotten into a fight before he came here. Now that he's closer, I noticed the fresh cut right below his hairline. Frowning, I wondered how someone got close enough to cut him.
His eyes briefly flash yellow, and he growls at something behind me. I quickly turn around, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary. When I turn back to him he waves his hand, dismissing my unasked question. He used to yammer on at a mile a minute, talking too much, laughing too loud, fighting too hard with the world. Now he doesn't really speak as much as he should. Doesn't explain himself. I miss that sometimes, when it's quiet, and I'm left alone with thoughts I don't want. All the times I told him to shut up, it seems as if he's finally listening to me. Stupid vampire.
I take a sip of my drink. Just Diet Coke. Spike doesn't understand how someone can go to a bar and just order a diet soda. I've given up trying to explain to him why we all can't be in a permanent alcohol induced daze. He scoffs at me. What else is new?
"Patrolling tonight?" He finally asks.
I nod my head.
"Want me to come with?"
I nod again.
We lapse back into silence. I can see him clearly, sometimes. All of his good and bad qualities. Everything that drives me insane about him. Every one of his contradictions. I can see the vampire and the man-the demon and William. The two come together and make Spike, in all of his insane, impulsive, glory. He can kill and he can cry, threaten my life, and hold me with such tenderness that it can make me weep. He's a poet. He's a fighter. He smokes too much and drinks too much and drives me batshit. He's a lover. He's a vampire. He's a man.
And he's mine.
I smile, content that I've sorted him out. "Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"Walk me home."
"What about patrolling?"
"I have something I want to show you."
He accepts that answer, like he accepts every little thing about me, and stands up, holding out his hand. I take it, and grasp it tightly. I don't intend to let him go.
Whatever, it doesn't matter. And I'm not going to make a big deal of it. There are so few things he can actually get away with these days. He needs the little things-like smoking in the Bronze-to make him feel like the Big Bad again. To make him feel like he can do what he wants, when he wants; he's got a massive inferiority complex.... though he'd never admit to it.
I've been watching him a lot lately, since he's come back from Africa. It's easier to watch him than to talk to him. When he doesn't know he's being observed, he acts naturally; no posturing or snide remarks. His face is open, and sometimes he even smiles. I like it when he smiles now; it's genuine and warm. Mostly though he glares into his drink, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. Something is always on his mind.
He's got too many problems. I mean, other than the whole vampire thing. For one, he's an alcoholic. Well, I don't know if vampires can become addicted to alcohol, but he does drink far too much. He never drank before though, when he first came to town. I never did smell alcohol on him when we fought. I think losing Drusilla pushed him over the edge into the bottle. Not that it makes a difference, he is still one of the best fighters I have ever encountered, even when he is almost drunk off his ass.
The smoking thing bothers me too. Not because he's going to get lung cancer, but because I'm sure all the second hand smoke is going to kill me. There was a time where I thought that was his plan. He couldn't rip my lungs out himself, so he figured he'd just give me cancer. Of course, Spike isn't that patient, so I quickly rejected that idea.
Impatience. That's annoying. He always wants what he wants right that second. He never could stand to wait. Instant gratification is what Spike's all about. I swear, he often reminds me of a small child; he pouts and throws tantrums when he has to wait for something! It's ridiculous. He could have killed me if he had waited an extra 2 days. He confessed to me once that he wouldn't have done anything differently. He still would have attacked the school on Parent-Teacher night. Just because he was bored.
He's cruel. Sometimes it's ok, because we're bantering, or fighting. Sometimes, I know, it's a defense mechanism. But there are times when heo pens his mouth and says the coldest things, completely out of the blue. I've learned to ignore the pain it causes, but still, it unsettles me. How could he be almost kind one minute, and then rip out your heart and stomp on it the next? The only person who is not on the receiving end of his piercing barbs is Dawn. And sometimes Willow, but he'll even lash out at her if he's tired enough.
He still steals too. Even now that he has a soul and is fighting with the "white hats", he steals. It's not like he's stealing jewelry or clothes or breaking into people's houses. Mostly he just scares the clerk at the Circle K into giving him a pack of smokes, or intimidates somebody outside the liquor store into handing over their recently purchased booze. I'm still trying to figure out how to make him stop doing that. He thinks I don't notice, that I can't tell. Sometimes he underestimates me. He also hustles people out of their money in pool games. He claims that it's not his fault the boys from UC Sunnydale are so arrogant that they think they could beat him. I point out that they aren't aware he has over a century of practice. He just shrugs and says they should be more careful who they make bets with.
Stealing isn't the only hangover from his Big Bad days. He still acts like a predator. Most nights he'll sit with us and research, acting almost human. But other nights he'll stand in the corner, his eyes narrowed, his body tense and ready to pounce. I can see his eyes flashing yellow. He'll make my slayer-sense go haywire on these nights. He stalks people when we go to the Bronze, following them with his body or his eyes. I know that he doesn't plan on hurting them; it's just a natural reaction to being surrounded by all that blood. It makes me uncomfortable though, and I've asked him to stop. He promised to try.
He eats all of my food, and that really makes me angry. I'm not made of money, even if I do have a new job. Besides, he doesn't even need to eat my food! Dawn and I will die if we don't eat the macaroni and cheese, ham sandwiches, and ice cream. Spike won't. And yet he still just marches into my kitchen whenever a craving for nachos hit him, and proceeds to eat me out of house and home. Most times I demand that he replace the food, and other times I demand that he takes us out to eat for dinner since he ate ours for lunch, once in a while he actually will-to the Double Meat Palace. Other times I just hit him. At least he cleans up after himself...sometimes.
He tracks mud into the house, leaves bloody mugs in the sink, terrorizes the neighbor's dog, tells Dawn horrible stories, mocks Angel every chance he gets, plays practical jokes on Giles (though I have to admit, that's pretty funny)., regularly mugs Xander, flirts with any pretty girl that catches his eye (which causes an insane feeling of jealousy) intimidates Clem into buying him hot wings, and ignores me when all I want him to do is kiss me.
I can't hate him though because he paid Giles back for all the high quality alcohol he stole from him while he was living with him. Giles went home one day and found his cabinet fully stocked and a note that simply said "thanks" in Spike's fine hand-writing.
He offered to quit smoking around me and Dawn, and I haven't had to remind him not to smoke in the house for at least six months. I put an ashtray out on the porch for him. He didn't need it, but it was my way of thanking him. He even uses it.
When he came back from Africa, he gave me plenty of time and space, waiting for me to decide one way or the other what to do with him. He doesn't pressure me, and he never drops by without being invited first. He told me could wait for me, and while I didn't believe him at first, he proved himself. I had a lot of thinking to do.
He's funny. Behind the cruelty, his eyes dance with humor. Does he mean to hurt us? I don't know. But he always follows it up with a joke or smile. Sometimes he says the oddest things that catch me completely unawares, and I just can't help but laugh. When he makes me laugh, he shoots me a small, shy smile. I smile at him in return.
He gives me gifts. Nothing too fancy or expensive, just small tokens that make me smile. Sometimes a necklace, or flowers, or candy, or a finely carved stake. Whatever catches his eye and reminds him of me. One time I followed him on one of his shopping trips, and I was thrilled to see that at least he pays for my presents. I know he comes by his money legitimately- well, for Spike anyway.
I eat all of his food. I actually make myself at home in his crypt, and I feel kinda bad when I plow through an entire carton of ice cream while he watches me with something akin to horror on his face. He only buys the expensive kind, and I eat it like it's the store brand. He buys twice as much food as he usually would, and unlike me, he never complains about it or threatens to kill me over it. And me eating his food his completely different from him eating mine. If he didn't want me to eat his ice cream, why would he buy my favorite flavor?
He's moving now, his cigarette still hanging out of his mouth casually; coming towards me with a feline grace, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He's got a nice mouth. He brushes his teeth. I was surprised when I realized what that peppermint flavor was underneath the smoke and the alcohol. I know he doesn't get mouth decay, so I figured he must do it for me. Or maybe he does it for himself. He's a clean vampire. He showers and uses shampoo that smells like peaches. He probably thought I wouldn't notice, since he buries that smell under a glob of hair gel. I prefer it though when he doesn't slick his hair back, like tonight, it's hanging around his head in curls that just beg to be touched.
His clothes are always clean too. He doesn't always use my washer, and the thought of him in a Laundromat is almost too funny to entertain. But he never wears a dirty shirt if he can help it. He's anal to a fault, really. You'd think that a vicious vampire would be a little less concerned with how clean his crypt is. He nearly lost it when he came home and saw the mess that Clem (and Dawn) had made of his home. Or what was left of his home after I blew it up. 'A place for everything and everything in its place' is his motto. I thought Angel was bad with the anal retentive cleaning. Maybe that's where he gets it from? A mess of contradictions, that's Spike. He loves mindless destruction, and will take any chance he can get to destroy things, but he will not tolerate empty pizza boxes on the floor.
He's sitting at the table now, not talking, just watching me. That's fine, I don't have anything to say to him right now. I'm still trying to figure him out. His hand is grasping a half-empty beer bottle, and I noticed that his nails are clean and neatly trimmed. There is also blood on his fingertips, it almost looks like some whore's garish nail polish. He must have gotten into a fight before he came here. Now that he's closer, I noticed the fresh cut right below his hairline. Frowning, I wondered how someone got close enough to cut him.
His eyes briefly flash yellow, and he growls at something behind me. I quickly turn around, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary. When I turn back to him he waves his hand, dismissing my unasked question. He used to yammer on at a mile a minute, talking too much, laughing too loud, fighting too hard with the world. Now he doesn't really speak as much as he should. Doesn't explain himself. I miss that sometimes, when it's quiet, and I'm left alone with thoughts I don't want. All the times I told him to shut up, it seems as if he's finally listening to me. Stupid vampire.
I take a sip of my drink. Just Diet Coke. Spike doesn't understand how someone can go to a bar and just order a diet soda. I've given up trying to explain to him why we all can't be in a permanent alcohol induced daze. He scoffs at me. What else is new?
"Patrolling tonight?" He finally asks.
I nod my head.
"Want me to come with?"
I nod again.
We lapse back into silence. I can see him clearly, sometimes. All of his good and bad qualities. Everything that drives me insane about him. Every one of his contradictions. I can see the vampire and the man-the demon and William. The two come together and make Spike, in all of his insane, impulsive, glory. He can kill and he can cry, threaten my life, and hold me with such tenderness that it can make me weep. He's a poet. He's a fighter. He smokes too much and drinks too much and drives me batshit. He's a lover. He's a vampire. He's a man.
And he's mine.
I smile, content that I've sorted him out. "Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"Walk me home."
"What about patrolling?"
"I have something I want to show you."
He accepts that answer, like he accepts every little thing about me, and stands up, holding out his hand. I take it, and grasp it tightly. I don't intend to let him go.