Disclaimer: Out of the most sincere respect for Joss Whedon and his team of
outstanding producers this plot and these characters are solely the product
of THEIR infinitely beautiful imaginations and not mine.
".Service the girl." Spike began to unbutton his fly with a delirious look in his eyes. "Spike. No." Buffy reached over and silenced his shivering hand. "This is it. All I want is to listen." "Right then. There's no spark. And I knew it. It wasn't right. I didn't fit. So I went walking back and forth in the darkness. To a place where tears fall more steadily than rain. And I found it. The spark." "I knew it." Buffy walked to the high window, staring out into the dusty column of pale moonlight. "I knew you weren't the same. when you touched me." Buffy turned back to him with tears in her eyes. "But why?" "Why does any man do what he musn't? To be hers. To be the kind of man that. To be a kind of man." This body standing before Buffy- what was once but a tainted shell of a man- drew in a sobbing breath after finishing this short soliloquy. "But you-" "I hurt you. I'm all but a man. I hurt them. All of them. Now they're all in here." Spike gestures to his head, lazily. "They're all in here, giving me what I deserve. I wanted so badly to give you what you deserve. But I can't. I wanted to love you. But not like this. Not like this." Buffy stepped into the darkness with him and ran her slender fingers lightly over his scarring wounds. "I tried to cut it out." He'd said. Buffy traced each careful line, all the while silently crying. "You don't deserve this." She sighed. Spike ignored her sympathies and slowly ascended the alter of the poorly lit church, stepping up to tall cross, pain quietly glistening in his eyes as he stares at it in all it's ornate beauty. "And she shall look on him with forgiveness. And everybody will forgive and love. And he will be loved." Spike embraced the cross, smoke rising up from the unsanctioned contact. Buffy walked over slowly and began to pry his tired body away from the unmerciful icon. Lazily slumping against her grip, Spike turned to her. "You are loved. I knew the day I came to you after you took on Glory. I knew you weren't like angel was. You were different. You felt for me what something soulless couldn't ever. You felt it for me and for Dawn and for my Mother." Spike looked down into her round and tearful eyes. "I knew. I knew in that moment when I kissed you that I loved you more than I could ever love anyone. As a person. You are all but dead to me, William." Spike, still staring down at her was now crying uncontrollably. "I've always loved you. But I'm beneath you." Spike sobbed. "More evil than that which devours. You are so high. They tell me these things. They are so honest with me." "Who?" "The one's I've wounded. The innocents, the evils." "You've got to fight them. They aren't real." "They are. They're here." "No they aren't. I'm here." Buffy took his hand and placed it gently above her left breast. "Feel it beating? I'm really here. Flesh and blood." With that Spike took her hand in his, placing it over his marked flesh. "Then where am I? What am I? If you are really here with me you shouldn't be." "What are you? You are mine. I love you, William." Buffy took his perfect jaw in her hands, a mouth that had seen a myriad of kisses, the cause of an infinite number of violent deaths. The same mouth that over the course of almost two-hundred years had taken the blood of the innocent across its tongue. But this mouth had never before spoken so eloquently. This mouth Buffy pressed to hers, and together they fell to the church floor in a downward spiral of the first honest passion ever shared between them. "Buffy, can we rest now? Can we rest?" And with this Buffy laid his head to her chest and held him until at last sleep was his.
".Service the girl." Spike began to unbutton his fly with a delirious look in his eyes. "Spike. No." Buffy reached over and silenced his shivering hand. "This is it. All I want is to listen." "Right then. There's no spark. And I knew it. It wasn't right. I didn't fit. So I went walking back and forth in the darkness. To a place where tears fall more steadily than rain. And I found it. The spark." "I knew it." Buffy walked to the high window, staring out into the dusty column of pale moonlight. "I knew you weren't the same. when you touched me." Buffy turned back to him with tears in her eyes. "But why?" "Why does any man do what he musn't? To be hers. To be the kind of man that. To be a kind of man." This body standing before Buffy- what was once but a tainted shell of a man- drew in a sobbing breath after finishing this short soliloquy. "But you-" "I hurt you. I'm all but a man. I hurt them. All of them. Now they're all in here." Spike gestures to his head, lazily. "They're all in here, giving me what I deserve. I wanted so badly to give you what you deserve. But I can't. I wanted to love you. But not like this. Not like this." Buffy stepped into the darkness with him and ran her slender fingers lightly over his scarring wounds. "I tried to cut it out." He'd said. Buffy traced each careful line, all the while silently crying. "You don't deserve this." She sighed. Spike ignored her sympathies and slowly ascended the alter of the poorly lit church, stepping up to tall cross, pain quietly glistening in his eyes as he stares at it in all it's ornate beauty. "And she shall look on him with forgiveness. And everybody will forgive and love. And he will be loved." Spike embraced the cross, smoke rising up from the unsanctioned contact. Buffy walked over slowly and began to pry his tired body away from the unmerciful icon. Lazily slumping against her grip, Spike turned to her. "You are loved. I knew the day I came to you after you took on Glory. I knew you weren't like angel was. You were different. You felt for me what something soulless couldn't ever. You felt it for me and for Dawn and for my Mother." Spike looked down into her round and tearful eyes. "I knew. I knew in that moment when I kissed you that I loved you more than I could ever love anyone. As a person. You are all but dead to me, William." Spike, still staring down at her was now crying uncontrollably. "I've always loved you. But I'm beneath you." Spike sobbed. "More evil than that which devours. You are so high. They tell me these things. They are so honest with me." "Who?" "The one's I've wounded. The innocents, the evils." "You've got to fight them. They aren't real." "They are. They're here." "No they aren't. I'm here." Buffy took his hand and placed it gently above her left breast. "Feel it beating? I'm really here. Flesh and blood." With that Spike took her hand in his, placing it over his marked flesh. "Then where am I? What am I? If you are really here with me you shouldn't be." "What are you? You are mine. I love you, William." Buffy took his perfect jaw in her hands, a mouth that had seen a myriad of kisses, the cause of an infinite number of violent deaths. The same mouth that over the course of almost two-hundred years had taken the blood of the innocent across its tongue. But this mouth had never before spoken so eloquently. This mouth Buffy pressed to hers, and together they fell to the church floor in a downward spiral of the first honest passion ever shared between them. "Buffy, can we rest now? Can we rest?" And with this Buffy laid his head to her chest and held him until at last sleep was his.