Shade: My Disease

You don't need to bother
I don't need to need to be
Yeah, I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
Once I hold on
Yeah, once I hold on
I'll never return my disease.

When she could think again, instead of just feel, they were lying on the floor, their favorite spot because even when they lost themselves inside each other's bodies, they could never seem to want anything kind or gentle, and the crypt floor, hard, stone, cold, unforgiving, was the cruelest thing they could do to their bodies. Once they were done, once her breathing had calmed and her heart had stilled, she pulled away from him, just like she always had, no cuddling or gentle talk for them, and lay back, pillow her head on her arm inside of the brutal stones. He rested on his side, his eyes on her face like he couldn't look away. She hadn't tried to miss any of the bruises or rips in his body and now she couldn't even bring herself to look at his body closely, because she could feel fresh, cold blood on her finger tips and taste it in her mouth and she knew that she had opened healing wounds, maybe even caused some new ones. What was it about them, that she could never be gentle? She had been gentle with her other lovers, had never felt the slightest desire to hurt them, bit them, draw their blood to the surface while they screamed her name in pain, in pleasure. But with Spike, she could feel all her control slip, ever bit of mastery over her strength that she had learned over the years slipped away like it never was and here was the result, Spike bleeding at her side and loving her for it. And again, she felt sick, felt appalled at the creature she had become with him. She came back wrong, he said, but that wasn't true. Tara had told her it wasn't true, and that meant that deep down inside, Buffy had never been right. She had always been wrong, somehow, deep inside her skin, and it had taken Spike, twisted, masochistic, brutal in his desire and fierce in his love, to call the monsters out of her blood, her bone, her muscle. She wanted to be human, had always wanted a life separate from being the Slayer, but with Spike, she was only a killer, only a hunter, the human side lost, dissolving in his touch. He thought he had control over her, when she had kept them secret, thought he had something to hold over her head. The truth was that neither of them had control over her. With him, she was different, alien, more supernatural than natural and the reality was that neither of them could control the force of her once they set it free. It was the worst kind of hubris, for him to think he could control any part of this. She didn't know why he couldn't see that, didn't know why he kept coming back for more. And, more awful yet, she didn't know why she kept giving in to him, kept giving him everything he wanted, the pain, the sex, the blood.

"Why don't you hate me?" she asked at last, her voice tired from fighting him, exhausted from the battle of keeping him at bay. "You're supposed to hate me, that's what vampires do, they hate me."

"Not all of us, love," he answered easily. "I'm not the first, and I'm not the last. We're immortal, or the next best thing to it. You really that surprised that we would fall in love with death when we saw it, all beautiful and blond, walking towards us with a glint in its eye? Hate and love are the same, the twin passions that rule humanity, even those members that have fallen somewhat over the years."

"Now you really sound like Angel. Or Angelus." But wasn't she thinking just the same thing before he came back?

"Fucking soul. Makes me think too much."

She strove to regain some composure, and with it, her edge. "I didn't know you thought at all."

But he didn't react to the barb, didn't even blink. He answered casually, like she hadn't just insulted, like he didn't care what she said or did as long as she stayed. Sick bastard. "Of you. Constantly. Even when I wanted to kill you. That's my nature. When I find something I want, I don't stop wanting till I have it."

"But you've had it now. You've had me. More times than I can count and in more ways than I thought possible. This little obsession of yours should be over by now."

He rolled her over to face him, held her face so she couldn't look away, and she winced at what she saw. His mouth was bleeding again, and she could see her own teeth marks in his lips. When had she become this, when had she given up her humanity to him? She wanted to apologize and hated herself even more for thinking that. What did she care if she hurt him? He was a monster, a killer. He deserved to be hurt. He deserved the pain, the blood. His eyes were steady on her, despite the bruising around them. His mouth was a straight line, no trademark smirk for her. She hated when he decided to be serious. Whatever she wanted out of him that she seemed so addicted to, it was not seriousness. It was not thought, or words. It was action, it was flesh, it was passion. It didn't involve little heart to heart sessions afterwards. "You haven't been listening, Buffy. Sure, I wanted your body. Who the hell wouldn't, all that strength wrapped in a deceptively frail looking package, all that destruction hiding under your skin? But what I really wanted, what I'm not going to give up on until I get it, is your love. I want you to admit that this isn't just physical between us. I want you forever, I've given up everything for you, every damn thing that ever mattered to me, and I'm not going anywhere until I get you."

"And if you do? What then, Spike? You leave? Like everyone leaves? Because loving me apparently isn't fun unless you can hurt me?" Oh shit. Had she said that? Out loud? Where had that come from? But in her mid, she could still see Angel walking away, Angel taking the easy way out, instead of staying and trying to love her despite all the obstacles. And she saw Parker not calling, explaining in that all too bland voice that sure they had had fun, did she really want anything more? She could see Riley, that skanky vamp-tramp on her knees before him, her fangs in him, writhing from the pleasure of the feed, could see him explaining that no, he really couldn't tell she gave a damn, could see him getting in the helicopter and leaving her, not coming back until he had a pretty fresh faced wife, some normal human for him to have a normal human life with. Spike was the only one who kept coming back, who came back despite everything.

To her horror, she realized that she was starting to come to depend on that, starting to need that. And that scared her more than anything else she had ever done or felt for him. Fighting the urge to gag, she was up with realizing it, grabbing her clothes, grabbing her life with both hands like there was some way that she could still salvage everything, anything. Through it all, Spike lay on the floor, watching her with knowing eyes. He could tell she was running, just like she always ran from him, and he wasn't stopping her. And even as she bolted from the crypt into the twilight of fresh night outside, appalled at how long she had spent in his arms, in his world, he knew he wasn't chasing her now because he understood that she would be back. That she had no one to go back to but him. And that realization, that horrible epiphany, was enough to make her run even faster.

To Be Continued...