A/N: tried to get in the mood to write the third part of Akoshta, but I'm
in a pissy mood, and did this to get it out of my system. Hope it worked.
Title: Bruised
Author: Kaylorin
Beta Read By: bjred2002
Rated: PG-13 (suggest if other rating would be more appropriate)
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story seen here.
Distribution: I like to share. Just let me know where it's headed by e-mail at bsdance@comcast.net
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He stood in the lower level of his crypt beating the hell out of the rough edges of the cave that served as a wall. "Bloody women! Bloody stupid chits!" He slammed his fist into the granite again. "And I'm," Another hit to the wall, "a Bloody stupid poofter!"
His last remark, punctuated with yet another blow to the wall, "Yes I know what I am." He turned around and faced the bed that had not had the use his floor had had. His face was bloodied, and taking out his anger on the rough barriers of the lower level of his home had not helped his already bruised body.
"And nothing's changed." He said as he touched the still fresh cuts and bruises covering his face. He growled into the empty room, and empty night, for the empty corpse that he was. There was nothing he could do. He was what he was. A beast, a monster, nothing, beneath her, never good, and much less good enough; that was all she saw, or ever would see.
Sure, a shag here and there, groping in the night where no one would see, or care. An ally was as good a place for a beating as sex. For them it was the same. Beating or sex. Either would do; at least for her.
Nevertheless, Spike was tired, tired of the games. Tired of knowing exactly where he stood with her. Tired of knowing what her friends thought. Tired of knowing what his friends thought. Tired of hearing her cutting words, followed by the feel of her silky skin. Tired of knowing that the moment the bliss ended, she would disappear. Tired of seeing her live without really living, tired, just tired.
There was nothing he could do, not about himself. He was what he was. He would say it a thousand times if he had to. Just to get it done with and let himself fully grasp the truth of it. He had no chance of being more than a cold body that, at times, gave her some comfort. If he hoped hard enough, maybe happiness would come, at least for a while.
It is all too hard though sometimes. He could only take so much. Vampire or not, and regardless what she thought, he felt. He could and DID feel.
Now, he felt alone. He had felt alone for some time now. With Harmony around, he was alone. In the midst of a Scooby meeting, he was alone. In his heart, he was alone; no one else joined him there. No one could fill the hole left by the woman who knew he would follow her to the ends of the earth. Follow her into heaven or hell. Only he could not. She would go, had been, to heaven. Nevertheless, he was damned.
This, his afterlife, was his only chance to touch a bit of heaven. That is what she was, his heaven.
He took a cloth from the top of the dresser and walked towards the back of the lower level of the crypt to the sink he used after he had tapped into a working water line. He wet the cloth, and tended to his wounds, still thinking of the night's events.
She was going to do it, turn herself in for murder.
He had meant it. The lives she had saved outweighed one girl. It was only one girl, not because she did not count, not because she was ominous, but because she was only one. He could not imagine how many people's lives Buffy had saved over the years, too many to try to count, that much was sure.
He had only wanted her to see that. She was not a murderer. In no ones eyes could she be accountable for the girl. It was one of those 'wrong time, wrong place' deals. And if there had not been demons in the picture, an easily explained situation, but the police would never had heard about the demons. She would have gone in, tried to explain the situation. She knew though. She knew she would not be believed. She would go to prison for a very long time. Her life would be gone.
Therefore, he had gotten in her way; tried to talk her out of it, tried to make her see, but no, not Buffy.
He chuckled at himself and his presumption. She would not listen to him, not the dead thing, not the soulless thing, the impure, evil thing.
He had gotten in her way all right. He had stepped up to be pummeled. He had hoped the fight, the hits, punches, and even the words would help get whatever anger she had in her, out. Maybe she could have some piece. Not want her life and world to fall away.
However, she wanted it, wanted it to all go away. She walked past his crumpled body and into the police department.
He had lain there, unable to move much. He tried to crawl down the ally. It had taken most of his strength to make it a few feet just in time to see her walk out of the building and away. So maybe it had done some good after all.
He wrung out the bloodied cloth and watched the river of red flow down the sink he had stolen from the junkyard, tossed the cloth onto the sink and walked slowly to the bed. He propped his back against the headboard, and tried to relax into the blankets and mattress as the images played in his head.
After it all, she would still never think of him. She walked right by him, knowing what she had done to him. He was going to have to stick to the crypt for a day or two. One eye swollen shut the other threatening to do the same. His jaw hurt. He was going to have to put those straws to use for a few days. No way was he going to vamp out and drink from a bag with this much damage if it was not needed.
He should leave. He knew that. Nevertheless, as faithful as he had been to Dru, he was more so with Buffy. She needed him. She may not admit it to herself, but he knew it. He was her confessor. He would never turn her away, had tried, and could not.
No matter how she acted. as though everything was the same. as if, she did not scream out his name on a regular basis and not from anger. as though he had not been inside her. did not know her. as though nothing had happened.
He sat up slightly. "Well we'll just see how much she enjoys it." He said to the emptiness of his home. "Next chance I get. These will not heel for a while. Gonna to have to be some nasty needed killing before then. Have to hop in and help." He tried to imagine the reaction she would have seeing how much damage she had done to him. Would she give a damn? Would she still want him?
"Hello?" From above, he heard someone call. "Spike?"
He did not say anything. Did not want anyone, especially one of the Scoobies to get a look at him like this. He watched as a blue jean clad leg came down the ladder, followed by the rest of Willow. "Spike? What happened?"
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, noticing the cramps that meant his body was already beginning its long journey to healing. "No worries, Red. Just got caught up in a bit of a scuffle. I'll live." He wondered why she was here. "Everything alright?"
"Huh?"
"Well, not that I don't appreciate a visit from time to time, but you haven't lately, not since Buffy's been back."
"Oh, well. Dawn wanted me to ask you to watch out for Buffy when you guys patrol. She almost turned herself in for murder tonight." Willow sighed. "Turns out it was Warren and his friends, but she thought she'd done it. Anyway, she's down, and Dawn's worried."
Spike did not know what blinded Buffy's friends. They knew the truth now, and still they hoped for her just to get over it. She had almost turned herself in for a murder she had not even committed. "Always keep an eye out for her." He said finally.
Willow's slight smile let him know that she was grateful. Knowing something was wrong or not, she loved Buffy as much as anyone did. "I'm hoping next weeks party will cheer her up." Willow said as she headed back for the stairs.
"Party?" He managed to ask.
Title: Bruised
Author: Kaylorin
Beta Read By: bjred2002
Rated: PG-13 (suggest if other rating would be more appropriate)
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story seen here.
Distribution: I like to share. Just let me know where it's headed by e-mail at bsdance@comcast.net
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He stood in the lower level of his crypt beating the hell out of the rough edges of the cave that served as a wall. "Bloody women! Bloody stupid chits!" He slammed his fist into the granite again. "And I'm," Another hit to the wall, "a Bloody stupid poofter!"
His last remark, punctuated with yet another blow to the wall, "Yes I know what I am." He turned around and faced the bed that had not had the use his floor had had. His face was bloodied, and taking out his anger on the rough barriers of the lower level of his home had not helped his already bruised body.
"And nothing's changed." He said as he touched the still fresh cuts and bruises covering his face. He growled into the empty room, and empty night, for the empty corpse that he was. There was nothing he could do. He was what he was. A beast, a monster, nothing, beneath her, never good, and much less good enough; that was all she saw, or ever would see.
Sure, a shag here and there, groping in the night where no one would see, or care. An ally was as good a place for a beating as sex. For them it was the same. Beating or sex. Either would do; at least for her.
Nevertheless, Spike was tired, tired of the games. Tired of knowing exactly where he stood with her. Tired of knowing what her friends thought. Tired of knowing what his friends thought. Tired of hearing her cutting words, followed by the feel of her silky skin. Tired of knowing that the moment the bliss ended, she would disappear. Tired of seeing her live without really living, tired, just tired.
There was nothing he could do, not about himself. He was what he was. He would say it a thousand times if he had to. Just to get it done with and let himself fully grasp the truth of it. He had no chance of being more than a cold body that, at times, gave her some comfort. If he hoped hard enough, maybe happiness would come, at least for a while.
It is all too hard though sometimes. He could only take so much. Vampire or not, and regardless what she thought, he felt. He could and DID feel.
Now, he felt alone. He had felt alone for some time now. With Harmony around, he was alone. In the midst of a Scooby meeting, he was alone. In his heart, he was alone; no one else joined him there. No one could fill the hole left by the woman who knew he would follow her to the ends of the earth. Follow her into heaven or hell. Only he could not. She would go, had been, to heaven. Nevertheless, he was damned.
This, his afterlife, was his only chance to touch a bit of heaven. That is what she was, his heaven.
He took a cloth from the top of the dresser and walked towards the back of the lower level of the crypt to the sink he used after he had tapped into a working water line. He wet the cloth, and tended to his wounds, still thinking of the night's events.
She was going to do it, turn herself in for murder.
He had meant it. The lives she had saved outweighed one girl. It was only one girl, not because she did not count, not because she was ominous, but because she was only one. He could not imagine how many people's lives Buffy had saved over the years, too many to try to count, that much was sure.
He had only wanted her to see that. She was not a murderer. In no ones eyes could she be accountable for the girl. It was one of those 'wrong time, wrong place' deals. And if there had not been demons in the picture, an easily explained situation, but the police would never had heard about the demons. She would have gone in, tried to explain the situation. She knew though. She knew she would not be believed. She would go to prison for a very long time. Her life would be gone.
Therefore, he had gotten in her way; tried to talk her out of it, tried to make her see, but no, not Buffy.
He chuckled at himself and his presumption. She would not listen to him, not the dead thing, not the soulless thing, the impure, evil thing.
He had gotten in her way all right. He had stepped up to be pummeled. He had hoped the fight, the hits, punches, and even the words would help get whatever anger she had in her, out. Maybe she could have some piece. Not want her life and world to fall away.
However, she wanted it, wanted it to all go away. She walked past his crumpled body and into the police department.
He had lain there, unable to move much. He tried to crawl down the ally. It had taken most of his strength to make it a few feet just in time to see her walk out of the building and away. So maybe it had done some good after all.
He wrung out the bloodied cloth and watched the river of red flow down the sink he had stolen from the junkyard, tossed the cloth onto the sink and walked slowly to the bed. He propped his back against the headboard, and tried to relax into the blankets and mattress as the images played in his head.
After it all, she would still never think of him. She walked right by him, knowing what she had done to him. He was going to have to stick to the crypt for a day or two. One eye swollen shut the other threatening to do the same. His jaw hurt. He was going to have to put those straws to use for a few days. No way was he going to vamp out and drink from a bag with this much damage if it was not needed.
He should leave. He knew that. Nevertheless, as faithful as he had been to Dru, he was more so with Buffy. She needed him. She may not admit it to herself, but he knew it. He was her confessor. He would never turn her away, had tried, and could not.
No matter how she acted. as though everything was the same. as if, she did not scream out his name on a regular basis and not from anger. as though he had not been inside her. did not know her. as though nothing had happened.
He sat up slightly. "Well we'll just see how much she enjoys it." He said to the emptiness of his home. "Next chance I get. These will not heel for a while. Gonna to have to be some nasty needed killing before then. Have to hop in and help." He tried to imagine the reaction she would have seeing how much damage she had done to him. Would she give a damn? Would she still want him?
"Hello?" From above, he heard someone call. "Spike?"
He did not say anything. Did not want anyone, especially one of the Scoobies to get a look at him like this. He watched as a blue jean clad leg came down the ladder, followed by the rest of Willow. "Spike? What happened?"
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, noticing the cramps that meant his body was already beginning its long journey to healing. "No worries, Red. Just got caught up in a bit of a scuffle. I'll live." He wondered why she was here. "Everything alright?"
"Huh?"
"Well, not that I don't appreciate a visit from time to time, but you haven't lately, not since Buffy's been back."
"Oh, well. Dawn wanted me to ask you to watch out for Buffy when you guys patrol. She almost turned herself in for murder tonight." Willow sighed. "Turns out it was Warren and his friends, but she thought she'd done it. Anyway, she's down, and Dawn's worried."
Spike did not know what blinded Buffy's friends. They knew the truth now, and still they hoped for her just to get over it. She had almost turned herself in for a murder she had not even committed. "Always keep an eye out for her." He said finally.
Willow's slight smile let him know that she was grateful. Knowing something was wrong or not, she loved Buffy as much as anyone did. "I'm hoping next weeks party will cheer her up." Willow said as she headed back for the stairs.
"Party?" He managed to ask.