Author's Note: This chapter contains spoilers for and quotes from the BtVS episodes Fool For Love, Crush, Intervention and The Gift.
~*~
Love isn't brains, children, it's blood. Blood screaming inside you to work it's will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it.
-Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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London - 1880
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Blue eyes darted frantically over the worn piece of parchment, concentration hidden behind a pair of thin, wire frames. The paper was littered with a messy scrawl. Words pouring directly from the heart gave the writer no time to pause. The young man mumbled nervously to himself and shifted awkwardly in his seat. He was dressed like a proper gentleman, complete with the stiffling tie that shuddered gently against his throat and caused his stuttering to become even more evident. Although his tweed suit was immaculate, his mousy brown hair was unruly and tumbled in masses over his spectacles. The tip of his pink tongue jutted ever so slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on the task at hand.
"Luminous...Oh, no, no, no. Irradiant's better" he mumbled quietly to himself.
A plain-faced waiter approached and streched out a tray before him.
"Care for an hors d'oeuvre, sir?"
"Oh, quickly! I'm the very spirit of vexation. What's another word for gleaming? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see..."
His face lit up and he wore a gentle smile, his corner teeth hanging slightly over his lower lip in an almost mischievious grin. The waiter arched a curious eyebrow and gave a patronizing smile before slipping off into the crowd of party-goers. The spirited laughter that had once been smothered in the background of his mind drifted to the young man's ear. Everything fell silent again, however, when his eyes caught sight of her...
"Cecily..."
Three syllables. That's all it took for his heart to be enflamed in song. Just three syllables, the three most beautiful syllables in the entire world. To William, there was no other word more exquisite in its simplicity. He turned back to his composition with a renewed vigor and jotted down several more lines before moving into the crowd towards her.
A young woman and her two male companions stood in a circle discussing current events. The young lady looked properly flushed as they spoke of recent atrocities commited in the city.
"I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind..." one aristocrat stated, his muffled words spilling out from behind the cigar that was protruding from his folded mouth.
One of the aritocrats managed to grab William by the arm as he passed by.
"Ah, William! Favor us with your opinion. What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town? Animals or thieves?"
"I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all. That's what the police are for." he stated haughtily. His gaze then fell upon Cecily. "I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty..."
Deep from within the crowd, a third man snatched the poem from William's hand. He chortled with mirth as he took his place in the circle.
"I see. Well, don't withhold, William." His voice was condescending, his words dripping out of his mouth down the two round sausages he called his lips and past the rotund stomach that protuded over his belt. It shook when he laughed and made William feel particularily uneasy.
The first aristocrat shared the others' curious smirk and piped up "Yes, rescue us from a dreary topic!"
William turned to the man who still had his work clutched in his plump, red hands and whispered almost inaudibly "Careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it's not finished..."
The entire group chuckled under their breath as William's poem was read aloud.
"My heart expands
'Tis grown a bulge in it
Inspired by, your beauty effulgent..."
Snide laughter followed with a questionable glance. "Effulgent?"
He should have bloody well stuck with gleaming.
Once he put more thought into it he had discovered many words that rhymed with gleaming. But it was much too late for a sudden spark of creativity.
William cringed when his words were mercilously spat into the waiting crowd of elite aristocrats. His rounded shoulders lurched forward in embarrassment at hearing his own words of undying affection bluster through the party. He felt the wave of crimson spread along the archway of his cheeks, and could practically feel them glowing with the heat. It wouldn't have mattered what the others thought, if it had not been for her. She wore the same blank expression, the same tinge of embarrassment left its mark upon her face. Her glare only left his when she turned on her heel and fled into the parlor. With a dour expression he snatched back his work and left, the tittering sounds of mocking laughter nipping at his heels. He only heard pieces of the mockery that followed.
"And that's actually one of his better compositions."
"Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry!"
"It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!"
He followed her into the parlor, shuffling his feet nervously along the braided rug. He caught a glimpse of her staring out the window, her hands neatly folded in her lap. When she caught sight of him, she began smoothing the folds of her ivory dress that covered her like a layer of frost.
"Cecily?"
She turned and sighed at the sight of him, her face a composition of prim expressions.
"Oh. Leave me alone. "
"Oh, they're vulgarians. They're not like you and I..." His voice still had a certain amount of laughter in it as he motioned towards the other guests.
"You and I? I'm going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand? "
William nodded. He would have agreed to capture the moon in his breastpocket and give it to her on a silver platter if she had asked.
"Your poetry, it's... they're... not written about me, are they? "
"They're about how I feel."
She was not about to be put off so easily. "Yes, but are they about me?"
William swallowed heavily. His tie was becoming increasingly tight so that his words had to be forced out his throat accompanied by thin breaths.
"Every syllable."
"Oh, God!"
"Oh, I know... it's sudden and... please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily." The words that had been entrenched so deeply in his soul came roaring out in a blazen fury.
"Please stop..."
"I know I'm a bad poet. But I'm a good man. All I ask is that you try to see me..."
"I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me."
_____________
"Stupid bint"
Golden-orange embers and a sliver of gray smoke swirled around the words as they left his mouth with disdain. The thin, white tube hung limply on his lower lip before it was snatched between the blackened tips of two slim fingers. He eyed the chipped polish for a moment before flicking the cigarette carelessly and smothering the flame.
"Ahh my one and only lady love, Madame Tobacco..."
Spike slid one of his slender girls from her tight packaging and let the crisp white paper slide between his lips. No sooner had one flame gone out, one was relit. That was how it had been his entire life, an endless cycle of death and renewal. His romantic entanglements had been no different. One dying spark had been smothered into the blackened abyss of his heart before another one was illuminated, more glorious and passionate than the ones that had come before.
The cigarette clasped between his pale fingers, he took a smooth drag. The ribbons of smoke circled his lightning hair like a halo. Gripping the handle of his glass mug firmly, he took a long swig of his pint. He tossed the cool, golden liquid down his throat then stared aimlessly at the bottom of the mug. His eyes had begun to glaze over so that he couldn't tell the difference between his own vision and the one skewered by glass. He could faintly make out a faint green figure in front of him.
"Hey buddy, I think you've had enough for one evening..."
Spike squinted for a bit, his brain slowly processing the fact that the demon behind the bar had snatched his mug. He mumbled a few choice expletives before tossing a wad of bills onto the counter top. He nimbly slipped off the bar stool as a clawed hand reached for the cash. Bloody demon bartenders and their overpriced American beer.
His chunky motorcycle boots hit the floor, with the rest of him not far behind. Cursing the putrid stench of the floor permeating his leather duster, he gingerly got to his feet. The glare of neon lights flickered above him and he felt like he was in a club, the throbbing strobe lights pounding on his skull. Without much coordination or grace, he managed to stumble out the exit and into the dark.
Spike fumbled his way through the night, only stopping once when he let his cigarette slip through his fingers and onto his duster. Being set on fire wasn't on his "To Do" list, at least not this evening. His only plans were to get royally smashed, which he had successfully completed in a very short span of time. The stench of demon slime and alcohol assaulted his nostrils and he snorted in contempt. Even while completely sloshed, his senses seemed to be in perfect working order. Emotions too. Yes, those bloody emotions always getting in the way of being properly drunk. His whole life and unlife seemed to be running through his head like a movie montage, and unfortunetly he couldn't slip off to the lobby for a bit of popcorn.
"Cecily..silly...twat..." he mumbled incoherantly through loose lips. He slipped a flask from his duster and brought it to his mouth. His eyes suddenly stung and watered with the introduction of hard liquor. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and spat on the ground. "Stupid bitch... all your fault..."
______________
William staggered down the winding and narrow streets, drunken with his own tears and sorrow. His hands were shaking as he tore his poem to shreds, pieces of his broken heart being carried off into the night along with scraps of paper. He did not notice three figures moving swiftly towards him in a pack, standing together as a wall of silk and brocade. His hunched shoulders clipped one of the ladies and his papers tumbled to the ground.
"Watch where you're going!" he hissed through muffled sobs.
He gathered up the torn sheets and stumbled towards a nearby alleyway. Planting himself on a bale of hay, he finished the job of destroying his work, letting the shredded pieces slip through his fingers along with all his hopes and dignity. The sound of soft cooing struck his ears and he looked up through tear stained eyes to behold a serene vision of maiden beauty.
"And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?
He was entranced by the dark pools of coffee liquer that peered down at him. They were framed by crashing waves of ebony silk and skin the colour of porcelain. She appeared almost doll-like in her delicate features. So pure and innocent...
He sucked in a cool breath and clenched his jaw.
"Nothing. I wish to be alone"
Her mouth curled in a small red bow, she held his gaze. "Oh, I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory..." her voice sang in strong and steady beats. Suddenly, her eyes took on a maddening glare. " That and burning baby fish swimming all around your head."
Her head was tilted to the side in a coquettish stance, and William shifted uneasily before slowly backing away.
"That's quite close enough. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."
The corners of her lips spread into a broad grin and she slid towards him. "Don't need a purse." She held her pale hand in front of him, the slender fingers capped with slices of deep crimson. She slowly pointed to his head and heart in succession. "Your wealth lies here... and here. In the spirit and... imagination. You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine."
William was riveted by this insightful creature that possessed the ability to delve deep into his soul. "Oh, yes! I mean, no. I mean... mother's expecting me." His words poured out in such a flurry that he scarcely had time to catch them all.
The woman was coming even closer now, midnight spheres with flecks of gold hypnotizing him with their dark grace. She slid her hands up his chest and undid the collar of his shirt. Her grin was even wider now, spreading across the ivory plains of her face. "I see what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something... "
William could feel his heart beating wildly against the woman's slender hand, waiting on the precipice of desire.
"Effulgent."
William was beside himself. Finally someone who understood. "Effulgent..."
The tip of her tongue rested coyly on the inside of her lip before she spoke again. "Do you want it?"
His eyes grew wide as he carefully placed his hand on the top of her bust.
"Yes, oh god yes..."
______________
"I am slowly going crazy, one...two...three...four...five...six....switch..."
He drained some more alcohol from his flask before sliding it back into his duster.
"Crazy going slowly am I, six...five...four...three...two...switch..."
Spike stared aimlessly at the night sky, the stars winking at him mischieviously. He snorted and stood up, raising his arms to the heavens.
"Arn't you going to sing me a song? I want my bloody cheery melody! Complete with nauseating chorus and cheesy special effects, just like those poofy boy bands!" he crowed.
Of course his calls went unanswered and his arms fell to his side in defeat. He could see Drusilla's face, full of insane laughter. Hell, maybe she was proud of him, having almost fallen completely off his rocker. He'd always had a certain affection for her charming hobby of naming the stars, whether or not they were actually in view. Maybe he could start aswell. That large bright star could be Cecily. It seemed so posh and prim, confidant in the fact that it was better than the other stars. The one with the mad twinkle could be Dru, his ripe and wicked plum filled to the skin with delightfully succulent darkness.
He closed his eyes and remembered one night when the sky had been filled with a celestial explosion. Beneath that starlight a pair of glinting fangs had taken the life of a humble poet and the darkness had been given a new creature to stalk through its dreary folds. For over a hundred years they owned the night, filling it with screams and gore. They tore a carnal gash across Europe, bound together by their lust for blood. But their perfect black paradise didn't last forever...
______________
Brazil - 1998
______________
"Why can't you kill her?"
"You're the one who keeps bringing her up!"
Spike stalked back and forth like a man posessed. The night sky blanketed them like a layer of velvet, emanating its lush heat. The tropical palm trees swayed to an unheard calypso beat while an electric storm of blue raged behind Spike's eyes.
"I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"
Drusilla lowered her head and whimpered, pulling the folds of her silk kimono tightly around her slim figure. "But you're lying! I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away?"
His eyes suddenly took on an air of calm as he held out an apologetic hand. His mind was filled with hateful thoughts of Angelus, his mark was still branded on his love's unbeating heart. He scowled in frustration, cursing Angelus and his blonde bitch for forcing a wedge between him and Drusilla.
"But I did, pet. I did it for you. You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this."
He motioned to creature standing a few feet behind Drusilla. The Chaos demon towered a few feet above ber, his antlers oozing with green liquid. He wore a quizzical expressions as he idly sipped his beer and took in the scene.
"Okay, you guys obviously have a thing going on here."
Drusilla cast a flirtatious glance towards her slimy companion and bit her lip seductively.
"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."
"So this is my fault now?" Spike spat in frustration, eyeing the demon warily.
"I didn't know she was seeing somebody..." he shuddered at Spike's deadly glare. "I should take off."
"Yeah, why don't you do that?"
The demon blew a kiss to Drusilla before heading towards the Spanish-style bar. Spike turned his attention towards his dark queen, only to find her still cold and distant.
"You can't blame the ghoul, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."
______________
"That one's her. That one'll be the bloody Slayer..."
His eyes remained fixed on the sky, paying special attention to a flickering star. It was radiant but yet it was cowering behind a dark shadow. It was so bright and pure yet always trapped within the confines of the night.
He'd drained the last drop of alcohol during his reverie but he still felt the taste of it lingering on his lips. Even after something's gone, evidence of its presence always remains. He could picture her lying on the concrete, the dust settled around her like mist on the moors.
Buffy.
At that moment he'd seen how truly fragile she was, her willowy form for once looking small and innocent instead of massively strong. He'd realized that even a body of steel could be broken. He'd sobbed uncontrollably at the sight of his fallen angel, her golden curls framing a face that wore the faintest hint of a smile. Sure, he'd cried when Dru left. But with Buffy... they weren't just tears of loss. They were tears of pure anguish and grief, of sorrow and of pain. They were tears of guilt, knowing that he was a complete failure. That he had failed her.
Sod it, he could feel the tears coming again, ready to breach and spill down his cheeks. He clenched his eyes shut, and remembered the rejection, the attitude, the hurt...
______________
"I could've dance all night with that one"
"You think we're dancing?"
"That's all we've ever done."
She had that annoyed little expression where her mouth was puckered like a sour lemon and her eyes narrowed into slits. He wouldn't have cared if she had a paper bag over her head, because at the moment she was sitting on top of him, legs straddled, and in the end that was all that really mattered. She was a persistent one, nagging him all evening about his history and his effective methods of vanquishing slayers. He seized her wrists and hoisted her off of him, running his tongue over his teeth behind his patented cocky smirk. There was that irritated glare again. He stalked towards her, flipping a pool cue into his hands and spun it around.
"And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop. Every day you wake up, it's the same bloody question that haunts you: is today the day I die?"
He swung the pool cue into the air in a vicious arc, but Buffy meeted it with an enraged counter-attack.
"Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it's gonna catch you. And part of you wants it... not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it."
Buffy backhanded Spike across the face, but his wicked grin would not be wiped clean.
"Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: What's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. Every Slayer... has a death wish."
Buffy face was totally void of expression, her features a blank mask.
"Even you. The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is you've got ties to the world... your mum, your brat kid sister, the Scoobies. They all tie you here but you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second- the second- that happens... "
Spike clapped his hands together in front of Buffy's unblinking eyes.
"You know I'll be there. I'll slip in... have myself a real good day. Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did."
"Get out of my sight. Now."
"Oh... did I scare ya? You're the Slayer. Do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing. You know you want to."
"I mean it. "
"So do I. Give it me good, Buffy. Do it!"
"Spike... "
For a reason he could not possibly comprehend, Spike stepped forward and leaned in to kiss her. She, of course, promptly backed away in horror.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He grabbed her arms, his words coming out in a breathless pant. "Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."
"Say it's true. Say I do want to..." she planted her hands on his black-clad chest and shoved him viciously to the ground. "It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you..."
She threw a wad of cash at him in contempt, his payment for the brief history lesson.
"You're beneath me"
______________
Funny how both women who had uttered that phrase were now six feet beneath him.
Irony was a cruel and spiteful bitch.
Not that he hadn't deserved being stomped on. He had tried to kill her many a time before he decided it might be fun to shag her instead. If he could breathe he was sure he would suffocate in her essence...
"No, look at me! I... love you. You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You're in my gut... my throat... I'm drowning in you, Summers, I'm drowning in you.."
Even after his post-chip epiphany, he hadn't been on his best behaviour. Chaining her up and attempting to have her through robotics had not been shining moments of brilliance.
But she had kissed him.
"Don't. That... thing, it... it wasn't even real. What you did, for me, and Dawn... that was real. I won't forget it."
He'd saved Dawn, he'd proven his valour. Maybe it hadn't been a cause for redemption but it had been a small step none the less. For years he dreamt of nothing but dancing on her grave, feeling her blood pump down his throat. But when he made a conscious effort to save her, to stop her from having to sacrifice her life, he'd failed. Her blood was on his hands, shed because of a broken promise to protect her sister until the end of the world. Nothing was left but bitter memories and stolen moments...
"I know you'll never love me. I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man. And that's... "
Bullocks, he was going to cry again. He bit into his lip savagely and stumbled towards his beat up DeSoto. One crisp summer day soon after her death he'd crawled into his car and started to drive. He hadn't stopped until he'd reached the other side of the country. Since then he had blazed a trail of inebriated self pity through several demon bars along the New England coast.
Blinking through the forbidden tears he rubbed some of the protective blank paint from the windshield and turned on the ignition. The scenery passed him by in a whirl along with the memories that flooded his mind. He tried to distract himself musing about what would happen if he were pulled over for drunk driving and forced to take a breathalizer test. That just wouldn't turn out well. A more helpful distraction appeared when he swerved suddenly into a sign by the side of the road.
"Welcome to Harmony. That's... bugger."
~*~
Love isn't brains, children, it's blood. Blood screaming inside you to work it's will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it.
-Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
______________
London - 1880
______________
Blue eyes darted frantically over the worn piece of parchment, concentration hidden behind a pair of thin, wire frames. The paper was littered with a messy scrawl. Words pouring directly from the heart gave the writer no time to pause. The young man mumbled nervously to himself and shifted awkwardly in his seat. He was dressed like a proper gentleman, complete with the stiffling tie that shuddered gently against his throat and caused his stuttering to become even more evident. Although his tweed suit was immaculate, his mousy brown hair was unruly and tumbled in masses over his spectacles. The tip of his pink tongue jutted ever so slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on the task at hand.
"Luminous...Oh, no, no, no. Irradiant's better" he mumbled quietly to himself.
A plain-faced waiter approached and streched out a tray before him.
"Care for an hors d'oeuvre, sir?"
"Oh, quickly! I'm the very spirit of vexation. What's another word for gleaming? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see..."
His face lit up and he wore a gentle smile, his corner teeth hanging slightly over his lower lip in an almost mischievious grin. The waiter arched a curious eyebrow and gave a patronizing smile before slipping off into the crowd of party-goers. The spirited laughter that had once been smothered in the background of his mind drifted to the young man's ear. Everything fell silent again, however, when his eyes caught sight of her...
"Cecily..."
Three syllables. That's all it took for his heart to be enflamed in song. Just three syllables, the three most beautiful syllables in the entire world. To William, there was no other word more exquisite in its simplicity. He turned back to his composition with a renewed vigor and jotted down several more lines before moving into the crowd towards her.
A young woman and her two male companions stood in a circle discussing current events. The young lady looked properly flushed as they spoke of recent atrocities commited in the city.
"I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind..." one aristocrat stated, his muffled words spilling out from behind the cigar that was protruding from his folded mouth.
One of the aritocrats managed to grab William by the arm as he passed by.
"Ah, William! Favor us with your opinion. What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town? Animals or thieves?"
"I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all. That's what the police are for." he stated haughtily. His gaze then fell upon Cecily. "I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty..."
Deep from within the crowd, a third man snatched the poem from William's hand. He chortled with mirth as he took his place in the circle.
"I see. Well, don't withhold, William." His voice was condescending, his words dripping out of his mouth down the two round sausages he called his lips and past the rotund stomach that protuded over his belt. It shook when he laughed and made William feel particularily uneasy.
The first aristocrat shared the others' curious smirk and piped up "Yes, rescue us from a dreary topic!"
William turned to the man who still had his work clutched in his plump, red hands and whispered almost inaudibly "Careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it's not finished..."
The entire group chuckled under their breath as William's poem was read aloud.
"My heart expands
'Tis grown a bulge in it
Inspired by, your beauty effulgent..."
Snide laughter followed with a questionable glance. "Effulgent?"
He should have bloody well stuck with gleaming.
Once he put more thought into it he had discovered many words that rhymed with gleaming. But it was much too late for a sudden spark of creativity.
William cringed when his words were mercilously spat into the waiting crowd of elite aristocrats. His rounded shoulders lurched forward in embarrassment at hearing his own words of undying affection bluster through the party. He felt the wave of crimson spread along the archway of his cheeks, and could practically feel them glowing with the heat. It wouldn't have mattered what the others thought, if it had not been for her. She wore the same blank expression, the same tinge of embarrassment left its mark upon her face. Her glare only left his when she turned on her heel and fled into the parlor. With a dour expression he snatched back his work and left, the tittering sounds of mocking laughter nipping at his heels. He only heard pieces of the mockery that followed.
"And that's actually one of his better compositions."
"Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry!"
"It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!"
He followed her into the parlor, shuffling his feet nervously along the braided rug. He caught a glimpse of her staring out the window, her hands neatly folded in her lap. When she caught sight of him, she began smoothing the folds of her ivory dress that covered her like a layer of frost.
"Cecily?"
She turned and sighed at the sight of him, her face a composition of prim expressions.
"Oh. Leave me alone. "
"Oh, they're vulgarians. They're not like you and I..." His voice still had a certain amount of laughter in it as he motioned towards the other guests.
"You and I? I'm going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand? "
William nodded. He would have agreed to capture the moon in his breastpocket and give it to her on a silver platter if she had asked.
"Your poetry, it's... they're... not written about me, are they? "
"They're about how I feel."
She was not about to be put off so easily. "Yes, but are they about me?"
William swallowed heavily. His tie was becoming increasingly tight so that his words had to be forced out his throat accompanied by thin breaths.
"Every syllable."
"Oh, God!"
"Oh, I know... it's sudden and... please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily." The words that had been entrenched so deeply in his soul came roaring out in a blazen fury.
"Please stop..."
"I know I'm a bad poet. But I'm a good man. All I ask is that you try to see me..."
"I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me."
_____________
"Stupid bint"
Golden-orange embers and a sliver of gray smoke swirled around the words as they left his mouth with disdain. The thin, white tube hung limply on his lower lip before it was snatched between the blackened tips of two slim fingers. He eyed the chipped polish for a moment before flicking the cigarette carelessly and smothering the flame.
"Ahh my one and only lady love, Madame Tobacco..."
Spike slid one of his slender girls from her tight packaging and let the crisp white paper slide between his lips. No sooner had one flame gone out, one was relit. That was how it had been his entire life, an endless cycle of death and renewal. His romantic entanglements had been no different. One dying spark had been smothered into the blackened abyss of his heart before another one was illuminated, more glorious and passionate than the ones that had come before.
The cigarette clasped between his pale fingers, he took a smooth drag. The ribbons of smoke circled his lightning hair like a halo. Gripping the handle of his glass mug firmly, he took a long swig of his pint. He tossed the cool, golden liquid down his throat then stared aimlessly at the bottom of the mug. His eyes had begun to glaze over so that he couldn't tell the difference between his own vision and the one skewered by glass. He could faintly make out a faint green figure in front of him.
"Hey buddy, I think you've had enough for one evening..."
Spike squinted for a bit, his brain slowly processing the fact that the demon behind the bar had snatched his mug. He mumbled a few choice expletives before tossing a wad of bills onto the counter top. He nimbly slipped off the bar stool as a clawed hand reached for the cash. Bloody demon bartenders and their overpriced American beer.
His chunky motorcycle boots hit the floor, with the rest of him not far behind. Cursing the putrid stench of the floor permeating his leather duster, he gingerly got to his feet. The glare of neon lights flickered above him and he felt like he was in a club, the throbbing strobe lights pounding on his skull. Without much coordination or grace, he managed to stumble out the exit and into the dark.
Spike fumbled his way through the night, only stopping once when he let his cigarette slip through his fingers and onto his duster. Being set on fire wasn't on his "To Do" list, at least not this evening. His only plans were to get royally smashed, which he had successfully completed in a very short span of time. The stench of demon slime and alcohol assaulted his nostrils and he snorted in contempt. Even while completely sloshed, his senses seemed to be in perfect working order. Emotions too. Yes, those bloody emotions always getting in the way of being properly drunk. His whole life and unlife seemed to be running through his head like a movie montage, and unfortunetly he couldn't slip off to the lobby for a bit of popcorn.
"Cecily..silly...twat..." he mumbled incoherantly through loose lips. He slipped a flask from his duster and brought it to his mouth. His eyes suddenly stung and watered with the introduction of hard liquor. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and spat on the ground. "Stupid bitch... all your fault..."
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William staggered down the winding and narrow streets, drunken with his own tears and sorrow. His hands were shaking as he tore his poem to shreds, pieces of his broken heart being carried off into the night along with scraps of paper. He did not notice three figures moving swiftly towards him in a pack, standing together as a wall of silk and brocade. His hunched shoulders clipped one of the ladies and his papers tumbled to the ground.
"Watch where you're going!" he hissed through muffled sobs.
He gathered up the torn sheets and stumbled towards a nearby alleyway. Planting himself on a bale of hay, he finished the job of destroying his work, letting the shredded pieces slip through his fingers along with all his hopes and dignity. The sound of soft cooing struck his ears and he looked up through tear stained eyes to behold a serene vision of maiden beauty.
"And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?
He was entranced by the dark pools of coffee liquer that peered down at him. They were framed by crashing waves of ebony silk and skin the colour of porcelain. She appeared almost doll-like in her delicate features. So pure and innocent...
He sucked in a cool breath and clenched his jaw.
"Nothing. I wish to be alone"
Her mouth curled in a small red bow, she held his gaze. "Oh, I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory..." her voice sang in strong and steady beats. Suddenly, her eyes took on a maddening glare. " That and burning baby fish swimming all around your head."
Her head was tilted to the side in a coquettish stance, and William shifted uneasily before slowly backing away.
"That's quite close enough. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."
The corners of her lips spread into a broad grin and she slid towards him. "Don't need a purse." She held her pale hand in front of him, the slender fingers capped with slices of deep crimson. She slowly pointed to his head and heart in succession. "Your wealth lies here... and here. In the spirit and... imagination. You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine."
William was riveted by this insightful creature that possessed the ability to delve deep into his soul. "Oh, yes! I mean, no. I mean... mother's expecting me." His words poured out in such a flurry that he scarcely had time to catch them all.
The woman was coming even closer now, midnight spheres with flecks of gold hypnotizing him with their dark grace. She slid her hands up his chest and undid the collar of his shirt. Her grin was even wider now, spreading across the ivory plains of her face. "I see what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something... "
William could feel his heart beating wildly against the woman's slender hand, waiting on the precipice of desire.
"Effulgent."
William was beside himself. Finally someone who understood. "Effulgent..."
The tip of her tongue rested coyly on the inside of her lip before she spoke again. "Do you want it?"
His eyes grew wide as he carefully placed his hand on the top of her bust.
"Yes, oh god yes..."
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"I am slowly going crazy, one...two...three...four...five...six....switch..."
He drained some more alcohol from his flask before sliding it back into his duster.
"Crazy going slowly am I, six...five...four...three...two...switch..."
Spike stared aimlessly at the night sky, the stars winking at him mischieviously. He snorted and stood up, raising his arms to the heavens.
"Arn't you going to sing me a song? I want my bloody cheery melody! Complete with nauseating chorus and cheesy special effects, just like those poofy boy bands!" he crowed.
Of course his calls went unanswered and his arms fell to his side in defeat. He could see Drusilla's face, full of insane laughter. Hell, maybe she was proud of him, having almost fallen completely off his rocker. He'd always had a certain affection for her charming hobby of naming the stars, whether or not they were actually in view. Maybe he could start aswell. That large bright star could be Cecily. It seemed so posh and prim, confidant in the fact that it was better than the other stars. The one with the mad twinkle could be Dru, his ripe and wicked plum filled to the skin with delightfully succulent darkness.
He closed his eyes and remembered one night when the sky had been filled with a celestial explosion. Beneath that starlight a pair of glinting fangs had taken the life of a humble poet and the darkness had been given a new creature to stalk through its dreary folds. For over a hundred years they owned the night, filling it with screams and gore. They tore a carnal gash across Europe, bound together by their lust for blood. But their perfect black paradise didn't last forever...
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Brazil - 1998
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"Why can't you kill her?"
"You're the one who keeps bringing her up!"
Spike stalked back and forth like a man posessed. The night sky blanketed them like a layer of velvet, emanating its lush heat. The tropical palm trees swayed to an unheard calypso beat while an electric storm of blue raged behind Spike's eyes.
"I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"
Drusilla lowered her head and whimpered, pulling the folds of her silk kimono tightly around her slim figure. "But you're lying! I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away?"
His eyes suddenly took on an air of calm as he held out an apologetic hand. His mind was filled with hateful thoughts of Angelus, his mark was still branded on his love's unbeating heart. He scowled in frustration, cursing Angelus and his blonde bitch for forcing a wedge between him and Drusilla.
"But I did, pet. I did it for you. You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this."
He motioned to creature standing a few feet behind Drusilla. The Chaos demon towered a few feet above ber, his antlers oozing with green liquid. He wore a quizzical expressions as he idly sipped his beer and took in the scene.
"Okay, you guys obviously have a thing going on here."
Drusilla cast a flirtatious glance towards her slimy companion and bit her lip seductively.
"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."
"So this is my fault now?" Spike spat in frustration, eyeing the demon warily.
"I didn't know she was seeing somebody..." he shuddered at Spike's deadly glare. "I should take off."
"Yeah, why don't you do that?"
The demon blew a kiss to Drusilla before heading towards the Spanish-style bar. Spike turned his attention towards his dark queen, only to find her still cold and distant.
"You can't blame the ghoul, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."
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"That one's her. That one'll be the bloody Slayer..."
His eyes remained fixed on the sky, paying special attention to a flickering star. It was radiant but yet it was cowering behind a dark shadow. It was so bright and pure yet always trapped within the confines of the night.
He'd drained the last drop of alcohol during his reverie but he still felt the taste of it lingering on his lips. Even after something's gone, evidence of its presence always remains. He could picture her lying on the concrete, the dust settled around her like mist on the moors.
Buffy.
At that moment he'd seen how truly fragile she was, her willowy form for once looking small and innocent instead of massively strong. He'd realized that even a body of steel could be broken. He'd sobbed uncontrollably at the sight of his fallen angel, her golden curls framing a face that wore the faintest hint of a smile. Sure, he'd cried when Dru left. But with Buffy... they weren't just tears of loss. They were tears of pure anguish and grief, of sorrow and of pain. They were tears of guilt, knowing that he was a complete failure. That he had failed her.
Sod it, he could feel the tears coming again, ready to breach and spill down his cheeks. He clenched his eyes shut, and remembered the rejection, the attitude, the hurt...
______________
"I could've dance all night with that one"
"You think we're dancing?"
"That's all we've ever done."
She had that annoyed little expression where her mouth was puckered like a sour lemon and her eyes narrowed into slits. He wouldn't have cared if she had a paper bag over her head, because at the moment she was sitting on top of him, legs straddled, and in the end that was all that really mattered. She was a persistent one, nagging him all evening about his history and his effective methods of vanquishing slayers. He seized her wrists and hoisted her off of him, running his tongue over his teeth behind his patented cocky smirk. There was that irritated glare again. He stalked towards her, flipping a pool cue into his hands and spun it around.
"And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop. Every day you wake up, it's the same bloody question that haunts you: is today the day I die?"
He swung the pool cue into the air in a vicious arc, but Buffy meeted it with an enraged counter-attack.
"Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it's gonna catch you. And part of you wants it... not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it."
Buffy backhanded Spike across the face, but his wicked grin would not be wiped clean.
"Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: What's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. Every Slayer... has a death wish."
Buffy face was totally void of expression, her features a blank mask.
"Even you. The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is you've got ties to the world... your mum, your brat kid sister, the Scoobies. They all tie you here but you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second- the second- that happens... "
Spike clapped his hands together in front of Buffy's unblinking eyes.
"You know I'll be there. I'll slip in... have myself a real good day. Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did."
"Get out of my sight. Now."
"Oh... did I scare ya? You're the Slayer. Do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing. You know you want to."
"I mean it. "
"So do I. Give it me good, Buffy. Do it!"
"Spike... "
For a reason he could not possibly comprehend, Spike stepped forward and leaned in to kiss her. She, of course, promptly backed away in horror.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He grabbed her arms, his words coming out in a breathless pant. "Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."
"Say it's true. Say I do want to..." she planted her hands on his black-clad chest and shoved him viciously to the ground. "It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you..."
She threw a wad of cash at him in contempt, his payment for the brief history lesson.
"You're beneath me"
______________
Funny how both women who had uttered that phrase were now six feet beneath him.
Irony was a cruel and spiteful bitch.
Not that he hadn't deserved being stomped on. He had tried to kill her many a time before he decided it might be fun to shag her instead. If he could breathe he was sure he would suffocate in her essence...
"No, look at me! I... love you. You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You're in my gut... my throat... I'm drowning in you, Summers, I'm drowning in you.."
Even after his post-chip epiphany, he hadn't been on his best behaviour. Chaining her up and attempting to have her through robotics had not been shining moments of brilliance.
But she had kissed him.
"Don't. That... thing, it... it wasn't even real. What you did, for me, and Dawn... that was real. I won't forget it."
He'd saved Dawn, he'd proven his valour. Maybe it hadn't been a cause for redemption but it had been a small step none the less. For years he dreamt of nothing but dancing on her grave, feeling her blood pump down his throat. But when he made a conscious effort to save her, to stop her from having to sacrifice her life, he'd failed. Her blood was on his hands, shed because of a broken promise to protect her sister until the end of the world. Nothing was left but bitter memories and stolen moments...
"I know you'll never love me. I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man. And that's... "
Bullocks, he was going to cry again. He bit into his lip savagely and stumbled towards his beat up DeSoto. One crisp summer day soon after her death he'd crawled into his car and started to drive. He hadn't stopped until he'd reached the other side of the country. Since then he had blazed a trail of inebriated self pity through several demon bars along the New England coast.
Blinking through the forbidden tears he rubbed some of the protective blank paint from the windshield and turned on the ignition. The scenery passed him by in a whirl along with the memories that flooded his mind. He tried to distract himself musing about what would happen if he were pulled over for drunk driving and forced to take a breathalizer test. That just wouldn't turn out well. A more helpful distraction appeared when he swerved suddenly into a sign by the side of the road.
"Welcome to Harmony. That's... bugger."