Spike could still smell her.
Traces of the Slayer's scent had permeated the rubble that had once been his bedroom. The scent of her strength mingled with the heavy odor of detonated hand grenade. Whispered reminders of her arousal lingered with the smell of singed wool from the tatters of oriental rugs that now littered the floor in chaotic patterns. The scent of her anger and confusion mixed with the stench of rotting bits of exploded baby demons that Spike had yet to wash off the walls.
Spike sat down on a less blown-up corner of the bed and closed his eyes, the scene replaying itself behind his eyelids.
"I can't love you. I'm just using you."
"Really not complaining, luv."
"And it's killing me."
The pain had surrounded them. He could hear it in her voice as she struggled for composure to resist him. He could feel it burning his throat as he tried to convince her to use him, to hurt him, but just not to leave him. He could see it in her eyes.
"Goodbye, William."
The depth of the pain in her eyes had surprised him. He found himself rooted in place as she turned and left him, walking into the sunlight where he could never follow.
"And it's killing me."
In retrospect, Spike believed her. She was, in fact, dying inside.
Spike had seen her eyes when her mother spent the night at the hospital for testing, the night he had thought about killing her but had comforted her instead. He had seen her eyes when her mother had died after a supposed recovery. He had seen her eyes when Dawn had been kidnapped by Glory. He had seen her eyes when memories of the heaven she had been ripped from were haunting her afresh.
But he had never seen her eyes hold so much pain as when she spoke those words.
"I can't love you. I'm just using you."
"I can't love you."
".can't love you."
"I can't love..."
".can't love..."
He had once asked her why she couldn't love him. She had spouted off some nonsense about him being evil and disgusting and she couldn't trust him. It was nonsense. She had trusted him enough to leave her mother and sister in his care. She hadn't found him disgusting when she kissed him and threw him to the ground, or against the wall, or against a tree trunk, and lavished her attentions on his body, heating him with her warmth. She hadn't thought him evil enough to warrant retracting his invitation to her home when he first discovered that the government chip was ineffective against her.
"I can't love..."
The Slayer loved her sister. The Slayer loved Giles, and Willow, and Xander. A part of the Slayer still loved Angel.
"I can't love..."
But she had never loved Riley.
"I can't love you."
And she couldn't love him.
".can't love..."
A part of the Slayer still loved Angel.
Spike's eyes widened in realization before narrowing in anger.
Spike could still smell her.
Paying more attention, Spike followed the scent. She had left a little sweat on the ladder leading to the upper level of his crypt, left when escaping the hatching demons. She had felt betrayed by his un-Scooby behavior, and the scent of her anger and confusion lingered.
The scent of her arousal and their subsequent sex play had infused into the oriental rugs. Spike vaguely wondered if he would ever be able to discard the ruined floor coverings if they maintained her scent.
He smelled the strength of her Slayer blood, painfully obvious to any vampire, but being so often surrounded by the scent he had stopped paying attention for reasons of sanity. In a corner, Spike found a scrap of cloth that he had once used to wrap her ribs after a fight with some troublesome demons. A drop of her blood had dried into the weave of the fabric.
He smelled her blood carefully and thoroughly, effectively blocking out the scents of grenade explosion, singed wool, rotting demon parts, and even the other scents the Slayer had left behind. He focused on the blood, and he found it - the scent of his Sire's claim.
"I can't love you. And it's killing me."
Spike was going to pay his Sire a visit.
Traces of the Slayer's scent had permeated the rubble that had once been his bedroom. The scent of her strength mingled with the heavy odor of detonated hand grenade. Whispered reminders of her arousal lingered with the smell of singed wool from the tatters of oriental rugs that now littered the floor in chaotic patterns. The scent of her anger and confusion mixed with the stench of rotting bits of exploded baby demons that Spike had yet to wash off the walls.
Spike sat down on a less blown-up corner of the bed and closed his eyes, the scene replaying itself behind his eyelids.
"I can't love you. I'm just using you."
"Really not complaining, luv."
"And it's killing me."
The pain had surrounded them. He could hear it in her voice as she struggled for composure to resist him. He could feel it burning his throat as he tried to convince her to use him, to hurt him, but just not to leave him. He could see it in her eyes.
"Goodbye, William."
The depth of the pain in her eyes had surprised him. He found himself rooted in place as she turned and left him, walking into the sunlight where he could never follow.
"And it's killing me."
In retrospect, Spike believed her. She was, in fact, dying inside.
Spike had seen her eyes when her mother spent the night at the hospital for testing, the night he had thought about killing her but had comforted her instead. He had seen her eyes when her mother had died after a supposed recovery. He had seen her eyes when Dawn had been kidnapped by Glory. He had seen her eyes when memories of the heaven she had been ripped from were haunting her afresh.
But he had never seen her eyes hold so much pain as when she spoke those words.
"I can't love you. I'm just using you."
"I can't love you."
".can't love you."
"I can't love..."
".can't love..."
He had once asked her why she couldn't love him. She had spouted off some nonsense about him being evil and disgusting and she couldn't trust him. It was nonsense. She had trusted him enough to leave her mother and sister in his care. She hadn't found him disgusting when she kissed him and threw him to the ground, or against the wall, or against a tree trunk, and lavished her attentions on his body, heating him with her warmth. She hadn't thought him evil enough to warrant retracting his invitation to her home when he first discovered that the government chip was ineffective against her.
"I can't love..."
The Slayer loved her sister. The Slayer loved Giles, and Willow, and Xander. A part of the Slayer still loved Angel.
"I can't love..."
But she had never loved Riley.
"I can't love you."
And she couldn't love him.
".can't love..."
A part of the Slayer still loved Angel.
Spike's eyes widened in realization before narrowing in anger.
Spike could still smell her.
Paying more attention, Spike followed the scent. She had left a little sweat on the ladder leading to the upper level of his crypt, left when escaping the hatching demons. She had felt betrayed by his un-Scooby behavior, and the scent of her anger and confusion lingered.
The scent of her arousal and their subsequent sex play had infused into the oriental rugs. Spike vaguely wondered if he would ever be able to discard the ruined floor coverings if they maintained her scent.
He smelled the strength of her Slayer blood, painfully obvious to any vampire, but being so often surrounded by the scent he had stopped paying attention for reasons of sanity. In a corner, Spike found a scrap of cloth that he had once used to wrap her ribs after a fight with some troublesome demons. A drop of her blood had dried into the weave of the fabric.
He smelled her blood carefully and thoroughly, effectively blocking out the scents of grenade explosion, singed wool, rotting demon parts, and even the other scents the Slayer had left behind. He focused on the blood, and he found it - the scent of his Sire's claim.
"I can't love you. And it's killing me."
Spike was going to pay his Sire a visit.