Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or actors of Buffy the Vampire Slayer except for James Marsters. I keep him in a cardboard box and feed him tortilla shells from time to time. He's only allowed out at night… and not to drink blood, either. J J/K
Note: I got my inspiration for this fanfic from Frawley, but I think her (or his, forgive me if you're a guy) fics are better. Go look at them.
If Only…He lurked in the shadows, letting the burnt-out cigarette stub dangle from his lips, not a fresh one on hand to replace it with. The lack of a smoke, however, was the least of his concerns at that moment. He was too busy analyzing the robot's movements. Bitterly, to say the least.
Her jabs and blocks were too calculated, too predictable. Yet despite the predictability, she still had no problem dusting the vampires. Most likely because they had only fought her once, had no time to memorize her actions. Or maybe they were just too bloody stupid.
She thrust the stake into the remaining vampire's heart, and *poof*, she was alone. With the exception of Spike, of course. But she wasn't aware of his presence.
Though it had long been extinguished, Spike crushed his cigarette stub beneath his heel. The darkness enveloped him as he retreated to his crypt.
Sinking into a chair, he pulled out a flask of bourbon, telling himself that it would help calm his bitterness and longing, yet knowing that it was a false hope. Still, he took a swig, relishing the temporary warmth.
He flicked on the telly, but after only a few minutes of clicking through channels, his pain overcame him, and he buried his face in his ends with emotional exhaustion. Thoughts of her, the real her, flooded his mind. He would not allow himself to even think her name, for then the wave of tears would be inevitable.
He was a sodding vampire, for God's sake! He wasn't supposed to love, or even care in the slightest degree. And to make matters worse, he had that bloody robot to remind him of all his faults, day after day. Or rather, night after night.
So many "If only's" were constantly present, but there was one that he hated with passion, one that nagged at his mind every night, every hour, every minute: "If only I had saved her." It wasn't so much the guilt that he hated; it was the bloody caring that he so despised. He blamed everything for it, everyone. He blamed her, but not really. He just tried. The chip; it had made him go soft, so bloody soft. Drusilla; she was the one who gave him eternal un-life, wasn't she? Cecily; if he had never fell in love with her, he never would have been burned, and therefore he never would have met Dru.
"Stop blaming everyone, you pansy," he told himself. "It's your fault and yours alone."
Pulling out the stake he kept hidden in his duster for protection against the occasional surprise attack, he pressed the tip to his chest, knowing he wouldn't, knowing he couldn't. Damn his promise to her. If it weren't for that sodding promise and the fact that he cared for the nibblet so much, he'd be dust right now.
If only…