She left me there, hanging. Clinging to a cross, burning until my knees gave out and my burnt arms could no longer support me. I crashed to the ground, and all I could muster out was one tiny whisper.
"Buffy…"
But she wasn't there. She left. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
Next I see her she's come to ask information with the Whelp. Still acting like it was nothing. Just come to see if the insane mopey vampire might know a thing or two about the latest baddie. Willow was there, too. At least I think she was. Hell, maybe Buffy was never even there. It's hard to tell these days.
It makes me mad, the way she acts like this is nothing. I got this bleedin' soul for her, and now it's here burning away at me. And she doesn't seem to care.
When the door swings open I know it's her before she steps inside. I can always sense her.
"Spike?" she calls softly into the maze of a basement.
"He's not here," I say back softly.
She gasps, turns to see me sitting in the shadows.
"Spike, there you are," she says.
"Am I here?" I ask. "Are YOU here?"
She dismisses my words as insane ramblings. I guess there are.
"I need to talk to you," she says, stepping forward.
I scramble backwards nimbly. "Don't want to talk to you."
"Why not?" she asks, sounding kind of hurt.
In the shadows, her face is hidden. I'm kind of glad for this. I don't know if I want to see that face. Another part of me longs to caress it.
"You left me to burn," I say like a small child. I hate sounding this way.
"I…I was scared."
She sounds like she's just confessed a crime.
"I'm always scared," I admit, more to myself. "Poor little William, no one to protect him. Always lost in the shadows, always locked away in his sorry excuse for a mind."
She stands there. I can hear her deep breathing. At some other time it would have comforted me.
I think I'm beyond comfort.
Moving slowly, now, agile as ever, she kneels down in front of me.
I shy away. Backing into the cold wall, the bricks scratching my bare back.
Her hand reaches out, and I dodge it, humming something I'd heard as a child under my breath.
She's silent again. God I hate the silence. So I do the only logical thing to fill it.
I scream.
She recoils like she's been burnt, and I can feel her eyes scorching into me as I fall quiet again.
"Spike?" she says, scared.
I can smell the fear on her. She's scared…for me? For fear of what I might do?"
"Hurt her," I cry. "Hurt me, hurt her, hurt so many.."
"So many? Hurt who?" she asks softly. "Have you hurt someone, Spike?"
I look up through my tears. Her beautiful face looks back at me, a finger reaching out to brush back some of m hair.
"You," I whisper. "Hurt you."
She shakes her head. "No, Spike…you didn't-"
"Hurt you," I say forcefully. It's true. "Wanted to make you feel it. Feel me the way I feel you. Inside, inside, deep down. In me all the way. In my head, in my heart. Wanted to make you feel."
She pulls her hand back, a frown marring her features.
"Wanted…" I'm sobbing now. "Wanted to make you love me."
She doesn't answer me, still.
"Hurt the girl," I sob. "Couldn't make it leave. Not the alcohol, not the soul. Nothing makes it go away."
"What go away?"
"The pain. I hurt you, Buffy. I made you…I tried…God, he's bad. He's evil," I sob.
I'm evil, so evil. I hate myself.
"Spike, you…you tried. But you didn't," she whispers.
"Because you stopped me," I remind her. "You're strong. So strong, Buffy."
And I, weak.
"No, I'm not," she concedes, and I can see her tears course down her face. "Ever since you were gone…I kept hoping you'd come back. I tried hating you for what you did, but I can't."
I lift a trembling hand, but let it fall back. I can't touch her. She's pure and I'm so filthy.
"Spike, please say something."
"Hate me," I tell her.
"No, I don't," she says, not getting in it.
"No," I tell her again. "Hate me! Hate me! Hate me!"
She jumps back when I stand up, ripping at my flesh with the shard of brick I've found on the ground.
"Deep inside me, gotta get it out. Get it out, get it out," I mutter, making cuts across my chest, trying to dig into the very center of my being. "Get clean. Get clean."
She rushes me, tackling me to the ground. The brick flies, and the moment her body touches mine I feel a rush of warmth, safety.
"No, you can't touch me!" I scream, suddenly remember. "You'll get dirty!"
She pins my flailing arms to the ground. I can feel her breath on my neck as she shits up. "You're not dirty."
I tremble, afraid she's going to hit me. Then I see the blood on the front of her white shirt. I panic for a moment, afraid I've hurt her, until I realize it's my own. She follows my gaze, seeing the blood.
"Sorry, Buffy, sorry," I say. "I made you dirty.."
"It's just a shirt, Spike," she says kindly. "I don't mind. Are you okay?"
I flinch at her voice. So soft, tender. So…loving.
I shake my head. I'll never be okay.
"Spike, there's something I need to tell you," she says. "Then I'll let you up."
I brace myself. Here it comes.
"I don't care."
I open my eyes, realizing I had squeezed them shut. "What?"
"I don't care what you did. What you tried to do," she says, looking me in the eyes with a look so intense I must shift my own to the wall.
"From now on, you have a clean slate with me," she says. "You can start over. I can start over. We're starting over."
I slowly, tentatively turn my eyes back.
The pressure is relieved as she gets off my chest, and stands. When I male no move to get up myself or reply, she gives a small sigh and turns away.
"Don't leave me?" I ask in a small voice.
She turns back. "What?"
"Don't leave me in the darkness, Buffy. I don't want to be alone. It's so dark here. You bring the light."
She smiles and reaches out her hand when she nears me.
I look at it for a moment, then gather up my resolve and grab it.
She helps me to my feet, and when I'm standing upright, she doesn't let go of me.
I cling to her hand as it is my only lifeline. Because, in a way it is.
"Spike…you wanna come over?" she asks me hopefully. "I mean, not to…just for a while?"
I stare at her, her glowing beauty, her heart and soul so pure, open for the taking, and I smile a genuine smile. A smile of content. It seems like years since I've done that.
She left me hanging there. Left me clinging to a cross, burning until my knees gave out and my burnt arms could no longer support me. Until I crashed to the ground and had to drag my limp body through the streets back here.
None of that matters.
She came back for me.
She gave me - what was it? Not a second chance. I'd passed that up a while back. Still, she gave me another chance.
I could never, no matter how hard I tried, stop loving this girl. And from what she told me, she had the same trouble. She left me. I left her. But in the end, we came back. Back to each other, to start afresh.
It meant the world to me.
"Buffy…"
But she wasn't there. She left. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
Next I see her she's come to ask information with the Whelp. Still acting like it was nothing. Just come to see if the insane mopey vampire might know a thing or two about the latest baddie. Willow was there, too. At least I think she was. Hell, maybe Buffy was never even there. It's hard to tell these days.
It makes me mad, the way she acts like this is nothing. I got this bleedin' soul for her, and now it's here burning away at me. And she doesn't seem to care.
When the door swings open I know it's her before she steps inside. I can always sense her.
"Spike?" she calls softly into the maze of a basement.
"He's not here," I say back softly.
She gasps, turns to see me sitting in the shadows.
"Spike, there you are," she says.
"Am I here?" I ask. "Are YOU here?"
She dismisses my words as insane ramblings. I guess there are.
"I need to talk to you," she says, stepping forward.
I scramble backwards nimbly. "Don't want to talk to you."
"Why not?" she asks, sounding kind of hurt.
In the shadows, her face is hidden. I'm kind of glad for this. I don't know if I want to see that face. Another part of me longs to caress it.
"You left me to burn," I say like a small child. I hate sounding this way.
"I…I was scared."
She sounds like she's just confessed a crime.
"I'm always scared," I admit, more to myself. "Poor little William, no one to protect him. Always lost in the shadows, always locked away in his sorry excuse for a mind."
She stands there. I can hear her deep breathing. At some other time it would have comforted me.
I think I'm beyond comfort.
Moving slowly, now, agile as ever, she kneels down in front of me.
I shy away. Backing into the cold wall, the bricks scratching my bare back.
Her hand reaches out, and I dodge it, humming something I'd heard as a child under my breath.
She's silent again. God I hate the silence. So I do the only logical thing to fill it.
I scream.
She recoils like she's been burnt, and I can feel her eyes scorching into me as I fall quiet again.
"Spike?" she says, scared.
I can smell the fear on her. She's scared…for me? For fear of what I might do?"
"Hurt her," I cry. "Hurt me, hurt her, hurt so many.."
"So many? Hurt who?" she asks softly. "Have you hurt someone, Spike?"
I look up through my tears. Her beautiful face looks back at me, a finger reaching out to brush back some of m hair.
"You," I whisper. "Hurt you."
She shakes her head. "No, Spike…you didn't-"
"Hurt you," I say forcefully. It's true. "Wanted to make you feel it. Feel me the way I feel you. Inside, inside, deep down. In me all the way. In my head, in my heart. Wanted to make you feel."
She pulls her hand back, a frown marring her features.
"Wanted…" I'm sobbing now. "Wanted to make you love me."
She doesn't answer me, still.
"Hurt the girl," I sob. "Couldn't make it leave. Not the alcohol, not the soul. Nothing makes it go away."
"What go away?"
"The pain. I hurt you, Buffy. I made you…I tried…God, he's bad. He's evil," I sob.
I'm evil, so evil. I hate myself.
"Spike, you…you tried. But you didn't," she whispers.
"Because you stopped me," I remind her. "You're strong. So strong, Buffy."
And I, weak.
"No, I'm not," she concedes, and I can see her tears course down her face. "Ever since you were gone…I kept hoping you'd come back. I tried hating you for what you did, but I can't."
I lift a trembling hand, but let it fall back. I can't touch her. She's pure and I'm so filthy.
"Spike, please say something."
"Hate me," I tell her.
"No, I don't," she says, not getting in it.
"No," I tell her again. "Hate me! Hate me! Hate me!"
She jumps back when I stand up, ripping at my flesh with the shard of brick I've found on the ground.
"Deep inside me, gotta get it out. Get it out, get it out," I mutter, making cuts across my chest, trying to dig into the very center of my being. "Get clean. Get clean."
She rushes me, tackling me to the ground. The brick flies, and the moment her body touches mine I feel a rush of warmth, safety.
"No, you can't touch me!" I scream, suddenly remember. "You'll get dirty!"
She pins my flailing arms to the ground. I can feel her breath on my neck as she shits up. "You're not dirty."
I tremble, afraid she's going to hit me. Then I see the blood on the front of her white shirt. I panic for a moment, afraid I've hurt her, until I realize it's my own. She follows my gaze, seeing the blood.
"Sorry, Buffy, sorry," I say. "I made you dirty.."
"It's just a shirt, Spike," she says kindly. "I don't mind. Are you okay?"
I flinch at her voice. So soft, tender. So…loving.
I shake my head. I'll never be okay.
"Spike, there's something I need to tell you," she says. "Then I'll let you up."
I brace myself. Here it comes.
"I don't care."
I open my eyes, realizing I had squeezed them shut. "What?"
"I don't care what you did. What you tried to do," she says, looking me in the eyes with a look so intense I must shift my own to the wall.
"From now on, you have a clean slate with me," she says. "You can start over. I can start over. We're starting over."
I slowly, tentatively turn my eyes back.
The pressure is relieved as she gets off my chest, and stands. When I male no move to get up myself or reply, she gives a small sigh and turns away.
"Don't leave me?" I ask in a small voice.
She turns back. "What?"
"Don't leave me in the darkness, Buffy. I don't want to be alone. It's so dark here. You bring the light."
She smiles and reaches out her hand when she nears me.
I look at it for a moment, then gather up my resolve and grab it.
She helps me to my feet, and when I'm standing upright, she doesn't let go of me.
I cling to her hand as it is my only lifeline. Because, in a way it is.
"Spike…you wanna come over?" she asks me hopefully. "I mean, not to…just for a while?"
I stare at her, her glowing beauty, her heart and soul so pure, open for the taking, and I smile a genuine smile. A smile of content. It seems like years since I've done that.
She left me hanging there. Left me clinging to a cross, burning until my knees gave out and my burnt arms could no longer support me. Until I crashed to the ground and had to drag my limp body through the streets back here.
None of that matters.
She came back for me.
She gave me - what was it? Not a second chance. I'd passed that up a while back. Still, she gave me another chance.
I could never, no matter how hard I tried, stop loving this girl. And from what she told me, she had the same trouble. She left me. I left her. But in the end, we came back. Back to each other, to start afresh.
It meant the world to me.