Blood Tears and Broken Hearts
Buffy was dead. Gone forever, and he knew it. He'd tried to fight them, he tried to keep them from falling but they did. The rest of the Scoobies had all sobbed uncontrollably, but he wasn't supposed to. /He/ was supposed to be the slayer's worst enemy, he was supposed to be happy that she was finally dead. Not like this…not on the verge of tears.
He was a vampire, a creature of evil. He wasn't her friend, he wasn't her lover (though he couldn't help but wish he had been) and he wasn't anything more to her than a "neutered" vampire. He sunk to his knees, and pounded his fists on the pavement. His pale cheeks, dry from being dead as long as he'd been dead, were stained with red.
He wasn't covered in "manly wounds" as Buffy had once said, but tears. Blood tears, the crimson streaks that showed the world that he was in mourning. He covered his face with his hands, and growled fiercely. If Buffy hadn't already done it, he would've killed that Glory bitch himself.
He wished that there was something he could do…anything. The thought never occurred to him that he could've turned her. Make her like him, a vampire. But, looking back on it, she'd never be the same. If he turned her, she'd go mad before she could kill her first victim.
His eyes were glazed over with tears and sorrow, the dark streaks dried on his face. He'd stopped crying now, he'd moved on to anger. He wanted vengeance for his lost love, for his only real friend. He looked over at Dawn, the poor girl. She didn't have anyone anymore. The others were still crying, still screaming, still waiting for Buffy to get up and tell them to shut up.
He could picture the Slayer doing that, too. Sitting up, smiling at them all, and telling them that she was fine, and that they didn't need to cry for her anymore. Spike looked once more at the broken body of the Slayer, and then rose to his feet. He left the scene where his world had ended. He disappeared into the night, wishing only to drown his sorrow in warm blood and tequila.
None of the Scoobies were ever the same after that night, though no one could blame them. Spike didn't look at them, didn't speak to them, and didn't even acknowledge them. He only saw them one other time, and that was at the funeral. He didn't speak to them, though.
He just walked up to the gravestone and placed a single red rose on her grave. He'd never be the same again, but then, no one who knew the slayer would ever be the same again. All this vampire had left was his tears…the blood tears and broken hearts that he knew he'd carry with him for the rest of eternity.
Buffy was dead. Gone forever, and he knew it. He'd tried to fight them, he tried to keep them from falling but they did. The rest of the Scoobies had all sobbed uncontrollably, but he wasn't supposed to. /He/ was supposed to be the slayer's worst enemy, he was supposed to be happy that she was finally dead. Not like this…not on the verge of tears.
He was a vampire, a creature of evil. He wasn't her friend, he wasn't her lover (though he couldn't help but wish he had been) and he wasn't anything more to her than a "neutered" vampire. He sunk to his knees, and pounded his fists on the pavement. His pale cheeks, dry from being dead as long as he'd been dead, were stained with red.
He wasn't covered in "manly wounds" as Buffy had once said, but tears. Blood tears, the crimson streaks that showed the world that he was in mourning. He covered his face with his hands, and growled fiercely. If Buffy hadn't already done it, he would've killed that Glory bitch himself.
He wished that there was something he could do…anything. The thought never occurred to him that he could've turned her. Make her like him, a vampire. But, looking back on it, she'd never be the same. If he turned her, she'd go mad before she could kill her first victim.
His eyes were glazed over with tears and sorrow, the dark streaks dried on his face. He'd stopped crying now, he'd moved on to anger. He wanted vengeance for his lost love, for his only real friend. He looked over at Dawn, the poor girl. She didn't have anyone anymore. The others were still crying, still screaming, still waiting for Buffy to get up and tell them to shut up.
He could picture the Slayer doing that, too. Sitting up, smiling at them all, and telling them that she was fine, and that they didn't need to cry for her anymore. Spike looked once more at the broken body of the Slayer, and then rose to his feet. He left the scene where his world had ended. He disappeared into the night, wishing only to drown his sorrow in warm blood and tequila.
None of the Scoobies were ever the same after that night, though no one could blame them. Spike didn't look at them, didn't speak to them, and didn't even acknowledge them. He only saw them one other time, and that was at the funeral. He didn't speak to them, though.
He just walked up to the gravestone and placed a single red rose on her grave. He'd never be the same again, but then, no one who knew the slayer would ever be the same again. All this vampire had left was his tears…the blood tears and broken hearts that he knew he'd carry with him for the rest of eternity.
