It's dark.
He lingers there, by the track, leaning against a pillar, enjoying night's cool clothing, and shrugs it off to go and meet the slayer.
Spike steps out into the fluorescent lighting and sees her there, looking all sorts of hot and powerful. The fight begins with not so much as a word, a message being transmitted between the two of them as they begin their dance. He's watched her before-she's damn good, innovative, resourceful, and with a young son...
It's the son he thinks about briefly before he is swallowed into the abandoned subway car and the bloodthirsty, exhilarating fight. The son-is he reason enough for her to live? Or is she so damn tired he can take her right now? That poor kid, a fusion of the slayer's dedication and the endless optimistic slavery of humanity. He might just lose his mother tonight to an equal adversary.
Punches are traded...it's better than the last time he fought a slayer. This is beautiful, this, this is a vindication of the acceptance of his passion that has caused him so much trouble with Darla and the like. Here, in a grimy, yellow car rumbling uncertainly along the rails, he reaches a moment of clarity so perfect he roars. His poetry intertwines with the snarls of the demon inside, and the fight is evenly matched in this second, a complex mesh of give and take...
This fight is so...William in its beauty. It's so...Spike in its enjoyment. And it's so Nikki in the way that they dance around, with, and to each other.
When it's done, he respects her so much he doesn't even drink her blood. He leaves her, regretting his actions because of the boy-although only a little, he swears, Dru, he swears...
But he takes her coat, slipping it on in another layer of acceptance of his character, and his destiny to be entangled with slayers. Forever.
