Unfullfilled
By Annie
Rated: R; language and situations.
Summary: Spike has gone home.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not ever, alas and alack.
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
Unfulfilled
I bit down on her neck hard, reflexively, as I started to come, and the resultant screaming pain in my head effectively ended the first halfway decent shag I had enjoyed in, well, a long time. I certainly had no intention of hurting her, but maybe deep down I was angry that she wasn't Her.
Of course, she jumped from the tangle of covers on the bed and ran screeching from the hotel room, holding onto her neck, heading, no doubt, for the nearest bobby.
Ah, well. I grabbed my pants and hurried into them, no mean feat, considering I still had a hard-on, and got out of there as fast as I could, heading in exactly the opposite direction of the busy intersection.
I missed old London Town. This modern version was too bright and crowded. I had especially liked this Whitechapel area, back when it was darker, danker and much less populated. What fun we'd had back then; skulking and stalking, drinking our fill and getting away with it. Until that knife-happy poofter came along around 1888, and then Scotland Yard was all over the place all the time. We caught up with him, the original Ripper, and no one ever heard from him again all right.
The taste of the harlot's blood in my mouth taunted me as I walked unerringly through the dark back alleys, back to my own section of town. Pretty much way over to the other side of the city, to a residential area.
I was about to light up a smoke and then changed my mind. I liked the taste of the blood, it had been so long, and it would fade all too soon as it was.
I had lucked out; found a nice house for sale, looked like it was on the market quite a while, so I took up residence in the basement. Reminded me of my old crypt in SunnyD, as a matter of fact. No one ever came around at night and, as far as I could tell, no one ever came around in the daytime either.
I had been here for six months now, living off nicked cash and con jobs, nary a thought of the Slayer imposing on my easy existence. (Liar - my still-aching brain accused.)
Well, alley whores were cheap, and the bitch hadn't been pre-paid or anything, so I got an almost-real almost-fuck, with a part of the anatomy involved that was not my own hand. Not a total loss for the night, after all. But I always had trouble convincing myself I was happy here.
Being here, in this place where we met, I thought I would miss Dru. I even briefly considered going after her again, but if I had to be pining away after someone, I didn't want it to be Druscilla. Not anymore. I didn't miss her at all actually, or Angel and Darla either. I had heard Darla had finally disposed of herself, and the pseudo-vampire-detective was involved in some kind of mystical something I wanted no part of.
No, I didn't miss any of that at all. What I did miss surprised me.
I missed Sunnydale. Missed my crypt. I had hightailed it out of there about two months after the Slayer jumped from that cursed tower and ended it all. For her and for me. I left everything, car, TV, furniture, just packed some clothes in a bag one night and left. Kept going till I got back home.
Except home appeared to be what I had left behind.
I missed the friends, too, although I wouldn't quite admit things that far to myself. Missed demon-girl and the wannabe-Watcher. I wondered if they were still an item, or if Anya had smartened up. I missed Tara, the quiet, decent-hearted half of the Wiccan duo, but I was kind of glad to be away from Willow. She had been making me uneasy, and I wasn't sure why, but I always trust my vamp senses. I even missed ol' Rupert. Missed the Niblet, but she was the one who had bothered me the most - After. Being blood kin to the Slayer - so to speak - didn't leave me anything but painful memories every time I saw her.
So, I left. I just wanted to be away for a little while. Wanted to get away from the 'Bot, too, who brought back other, bittersweet, remorseful memories. As far as I knew from the demon underworld, the Hellmouth still had its' Slayer, so the robot was hanging in there after all.
Got back to my basement finally, and I settled onto my sleeping bag on the floor with my newest adult novel. I didn't particularly like to read, but I'd been having a devil of a time scouting around at night trying to find a place to hide an extension cord and drain off a bit of electricity for a telly. Candlelight was enough for me, really, but I had found out that a sleeping bag on the floor was a lot like a blanket on a stone slab. It was only midnight now, and I should still have been out there, but I figured discretion was the better part of valor and I would stay out of sight of the authorities for the rest of the night.
But I couldn't read. My mind wandered and pulled out the guilt on me, again.
Okay, so I had promised I would protect Dawn till the end of the world. Well, Glory was gone, and as far as I was concerned, that night was the end of the world.
"Bloody hell," I muttered, throwing the lewd paperback into the dark reaches of the basement and getting up to pace, lighting a cigarette with unaccountably shaky hands. This guilt stuff was something I was unprepared for, and had really never experienced. I always tried to rationalize it to myself - my broken promise. Glory was gone. BuffyBot was doing a bang-up job if you ignored the nonsense that came out of its' mouth, and Giles and the Scoobies had been taking good care of Dawn by the time I left.
Still, if she knew I hadn't kept my promise, the Slayer would be turning over in her grave.
'Turning over in her grave' - the words slammed me back to reality so hard I actually tried to gasp without breath and doubled over, the pain sending me reeling out into the damp, cold night in an effort to flee my thoughts.
That never works; I have tried it before, numerous times.
It was really cold now, the middle of winter in London being just as damp as the rainy Spring and Summer days, but a lot colder. I just walked, fast, going along blindly, trying to outrun the wash of pain and emptiness that had overtaken me back in the basement. At full speed, I knew I couldn't go fast enough.
I found myself in still more dark alleys, and then I was in another 'business section.' Lots to do in London Town if you know where to look. I had in mind to visit a bar instead, though, and eased into one as unnoticed as possible. I didn't know if anyone was still looking for a handsome, blond man with long teeth.
I ordered bourbon, and sat at the end of the bar, away from the people and the mirrors. Even so, I felt the heat of the woman as she slid onto the stool next to me. I was trying to drown my sorrows, not complicate them, so I ignored her.
She must have had a quota for the night.
"Hey, Ducks," she tried happily, sliding a hand across the black denim covering my thigh. "Alone tonight?"
I drained the glass and motioned for another before I turned to look at her.
A fucking blonde. I hate blondes. All except one.
"Sod off," I told her, none too gently, either.
"Hey," she objected. "I'm just trying to be nice,"
"Be nice elsewhere," I warned her, reaching for my second drink and tossing it down. A quick barkeep, just what I liked. I noticed her hand was still on my thigh, and the heat coming through reminded me of my aborted fuck earlier.
So I was guilty, in pain and unsatisfied, too.
"And remove the hand, Ducks, before I do. I'm not into blondes, and if I were, it would never be you."
More bloody pain now, that phrase was going to be the undoing of me yet. At least I had used it on someone, instead of vice versa. I reached down and flung her rough hand away from my leg, throwing some cash on the bar and heading out without another word.
I wasn't too far from the river; maybe I could impale myself on something and fall in.
It was colder still by the Thames, and all the lights on the bridge and on the various buildings on the banks did nothing to dispel the bone- deep chill. Not that something like that really bothered me.
Nothing like London in the dead of winter, though, I mused.
It would be warmer in Sunnydale. I cursed myself inwardly. I wasn't strong enough to go back. And I wasn't strong enough to stay away, either.
I stood on the walkway, traffic rushing past behind me, and watched the old river drift beneath on its' way to whatever ultimate place it ended up. I was in no mood to search my brain for a geography lesson. I could jump in, but then I would be wet as well as cold-blooded, and wet didn't appeal to me just then. Also, as I glanced around, I didn't see anything even remotely resembling a wooden stake, so my self-destructive thoughts of a few minutes ago would go unfulfilled.
Like me. Like my promise.
And why in bleeding Hell did Fate, or whoever, pick just that particular time for the Slayer to die anyway? Having outlived all the others, why did they take her away from me just when she was starting to see me as something a bit more than a monster?
Why can't I just find a decent, sane vampiress to spend my nights and days with?
"Because that's not what I want," I told myself out loud.
There might have been a ghost of a chance, just the crumb I had practically begged her for - but no more.
Well, that wasn't doing me any good, just standing there being maudlin, so I headed off the bridge in search of another tavern. Which probably wouldn't do me any good either.
Someone else was on the walkway, heading toward me. Some other lost soul, probably trying to escape something. I hoped he wasn't succeeding either.
As we came nearer, my vampire senses perked up unaccountably. Back in the old days, BC (Before Chip), I would have kept my eye on him, nodded good evening as we passed each other, and then turned around and sated myself without remorse. The chip, of course, would not allow me to do that, and even now, thinking about it, I could feel the tiniest discomfort in my head. But my other senses, the natural ones, which are supernaturally heightened by being what I was, they were kicking in and going on high alert.
It was the build, and the faint scent approaching, the simple feel of the human before me. I knew that person.
Three more steps toward him and I knew who it was.
Rupert Giles.
He had, by this time, caught sight of me as well, and I am sure he was as surprised as I was, seeing the bridge lights glinting on platinum hair, the silhouette of the long black coat I still wore.
I figured I should plunge right in.
"Ripper! Fancy meeting you here! Kicked you out of the Hellmouth, have they? When did you come back to the old stomping grounds?"
Rupert Giles slowed to a halt as he got closer to me. He was blinking in surprise behind his glasses.
"Spike!" he exclaimed. "It is you! What an unpleasant surprise! Still not the most pleasant chap on the face of the earth, are you, William? How have you been? Still all defanged and impotent, are you?"
"Chipped, not defanged, and sodding well not impotent," I insisted. "Now, tell me, Rupert, what brings you.."
I never even saw it coming when he punched me in the face.
I reeled back against the walkway railing, vamping out before I could stop myself, and so of course I got the usual headache. But the fact that the Ripper had apparently thought nothing of simply attacking me definitely let me know he wasn't glad to see me.
I held up my hands to keep him away, getting my face under control. "Did you come here looking for me, just to do that? Hardly fair, since you know I can't fight back properly. If I could, you wouldn't stand a chance in Hell of getting off this bridge in one piece, and you fucking well know it!"
"You left town, Spike. You left and you didn't even tell anyone. We went looking for your help so many times before we realized you weren't off behind some bar cheating at poker or conning someone out of something. You promised Buffy, I know this. And you left. Not that it wasn't good riddance and all that anyway, mind you."
Well, he had called me on it. Someone besides myself had finally said out loud that I was a deserter.
"I couldn't stay anymore. I couldn't fucking stand to be around anymore. Not around the Hellmouth, not around you and the Scoobies and especially not around Dawn! I didn't know how hard it would be! I never thought she would be the one who didn't make it! I wanted it to be me. I still want it to be me."
Giles was having none of the excuses. Like the authoritative Watcher I always knew he could be, he was still protecting his Slayer.
"Well, we needed you back then. We all needed you. And don't think for one minute we relished that fact. There were so many demons."
I interrupted him. I had laid enough guilt on myself, I didn't need another layer from old English.
"You were doing all right, and I knew you would be fine and dandy without old Spike trailing along. Half of you were probably glad I was gone and I'm bloody sure the other half didn't care either way. The 'Bot was doing a first rate job. And the witches were already taking over caring for the Lil' Bit. My work was done. And while we're on the subject, I see you left town, too. Aren't you needed anymore either? Did Witch Willow manage to get herself in total control of everything?"
This seemed to hit home, as a strange expression came over his face. I had touched a nerve with the mention of Willow, and I suspected my inner fears of her burgeoning involvement in the Craft turning into trouble might have come to pass.
"Well, you have a point there, Spike, but that's hardly what we are discussing."
"What discussing? You slammed me in the bloody nose!"
He took a deep breath. "Things are going perfectly well in Sunnydale, Spike. If you had stuck around you might have just been mucking up the works. As it is."
"Well, from what I hear, and I do keep up, the so-called Slayer is still kicking demon ass in the Hellmouth. Good thing Willow knows so much about computers, I guess."
"You don't know," Giles breathed in disbelief.
"Don't know what?" I asked him, getting aggravated, needing another bourbon or five.
Giles smiled sadly. "You don't know why I left Sunnydale. I really had to, you see. Didn't want to, of course. She's like a daughter to me. I love her desperately, but she depends on me too much. Leaving there was the only way I could make her face up to her duties. After she came back..."
I couldn't hear anymore. My brain froze and the bridge walkway was suddenly gone from beneath my feet. Blackness fell across my eyes and my mind reeled. I grabbed his shoulders, ignoring the niggling pain in my head.
"What are you saying? What the bloody fuck are you talking about?"
He shrugged me off distastefully. "I am talking about Buffy. The woman you had professed long and loudly to love. The woman you deserted. I should stake you where you stand just on general principle!"
"The woman is dead!" I railed at him, all-consuming torment rearing its' ugly head in my insides. "She doesn't need me anymore for fuck all! And as for stakes, I'm already pulverized. Staking would just make it official."
Giles got dangerously calm then, and I unconsciously backed up a step, hating the action the moment I did it.
"The woman is alive, Spike. And guess what, she still doesn't need you for fuck all, as you so basely put it. I said we needed you. Past tense, Spike. But she's back and in the best shape ever. Taking life and all demons by the horns, so to speak."
I was angry then, at the audaciousness of the witch, and still trying to absorb this incredible information. "Willow, right? How dare she? Is Buffy..is she..?
"Normal?" he finished the question I was afraid to ask, then nodded. "As far as we can tell. She was quite a bit disoriented when she got back, and there was a slight problem with the spell, so she ended up having to dig herself out of the grave."
I winced at that, anger growing inside, overpowering guilt and pain. Willow. She left her.
But then, so did I.
"And she's all right now? And everyone else?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, they all appear to be fine. Buffy has had a rough time of it, adjusting and all. She was, after all, dead for three months, and there are a lot of things that need attending to, but she's managing beautifully. So she never needed you after all."
I was grinding my molars in anger and frustration, trying to keep it under control. "And why," I bit off shortly, "are you here tormenting me anyway?"
He laughed darkly. "It was just sheer bad luck, Spike. I couldn't sleep and thought a walk would tire me out. I never thought I would run into you here, or I would have gone in another direction, believe me."
"I need a drink," I decided abruptly, brushing past him and heading off the bridge walkway again. Got to find a tavern, no doubt about it. Maybe a demon or two to massacre on the way. "Nice talking to you, Rip."
"Nice seeing you again, Spike," he shouted after me sarcastically.
It took me ten bourbons to gather up the courage to make the decision. I never bloody cared what her Watcher said before, so why should I start now? Off I went, back to the Hellmouth yet again.
To be continued
By Annie
Rated: R; language and situations.
Summary: Spike has gone home.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not ever, alas and alack.
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
Unfulfilled
I bit down on her neck hard, reflexively, as I started to come, and the resultant screaming pain in my head effectively ended the first halfway decent shag I had enjoyed in, well, a long time. I certainly had no intention of hurting her, but maybe deep down I was angry that she wasn't Her.
Of course, she jumped from the tangle of covers on the bed and ran screeching from the hotel room, holding onto her neck, heading, no doubt, for the nearest bobby.
Ah, well. I grabbed my pants and hurried into them, no mean feat, considering I still had a hard-on, and got out of there as fast as I could, heading in exactly the opposite direction of the busy intersection.
I missed old London Town. This modern version was too bright and crowded. I had especially liked this Whitechapel area, back when it was darker, danker and much less populated. What fun we'd had back then; skulking and stalking, drinking our fill and getting away with it. Until that knife-happy poofter came along around 1888, and then Scotland Yard was all over the place all the time. We caught up with him, the original Ripper, and no one ever heard from him again all right.
The taste of the harlot's blood in my mouth taunted me as I walked unerringly through the dark back alleys, back to my own section of town. Pretty much way over to the other side of the city, to a residential area.
I was about to light up a smoke and then changed my mind. I liked the taste of the blood, it had been so long, and it would fade all too soon as it was.
I had lucked out; found a nice house for sale, looked like it was on the market quite a while, so I took up residence in the basement. Reminded me of my old crypt in SunnyD, as a matter of fact. No one ever came around at night and, as far as I could tell, no one ever came around in the daytime either.
I had been here for six months now, living off nicked cash and con jobs, nary a thought of the Slayer imposing on my easy existence. (Liar - my still-aching brain accused.)
Well, alley whores were cheap, and the bitch hadn't been pre-paid or anything, so I got an almost-real almost-fuck, with a part of the anatomy involved that was not my own hand. Not a total loss for the night, after all. But I always had trouble convincing myself I was happy here.
Being here, in this place where we met, I thought I would miss Dru. I even briefly considered going after her again, but if I had to be pining away after someone, I didn't want it to be Druscilla. Not anymore. I didn't miss her at all actually, or Angel and Darla either. I had heard Darla had finally disposed of herself, and the pseudo-vampire-detective was involved in some kind of mystical something I wanted no part of.
No, I didn't miss any of that at all. What I did miss surprised me.
I missed Sunnydale. Missed my crypt. I had hightailed it out of there about two months after the Slayer jumped from that cursed tower and ended it all. For her and for me. I left everything, car, TV, furniture, just packed some clothes in a bag one night and left. Kept going till I got back home.
Except home appeared to be what I had left behind.
I missed the friends, too, although I wouldn't quite admit things that far to myself. Missed demon-girl and the wannabe-Watcher. I wondered if they were still an item, or if Anya had smartened up. I missed Tara, the quiet, decent-hearted half of the Wiccan duo, but I was kind of glad to be away from Willow. She had been making me uneasy, and I wasn't sure why, but I always trust my vamp senses. I even missed ol' Rupert. Missed the Niblet, but she was the one who had bothered me the most - After. Being blood kin to the Slayer - so to speak - didn't leave me anything but painful memories every time I saw her.
So, I left. I just wanted to be away for a little while. Wanted to get away from the 'Bot, too, who brought back other, bittersweet, remorseful memories. As far as I knew from the demon underworld, the Hellmouth still had its' Slayer, so the robot was hanging in there after all.
Got back to my basement finally, and I settled onto my sleeping bag on the floor with my newest adult novel. I didn't particularly like to read, but I'd been having a devil of a time scouting around at night trying to find a place to hide an extension cord and drain off a bit of electricity for a telly. Candlelight was enough for me, really, but I had found out that a sleeping bag on the floor was a lot like a blanket on a stone slab. It was only midnight now, and I should still have been out there, but I figured discretion was the better part of valor and I would stay out of sight of the authorities for the rest of the night.
But I couldn't read. My mind wandered and pulled out the guilt on me, again.
Okay, so I had promised I would protect Dawn till the end of the world. Well, Glory was gone, and as far as I was concerned, that night was the end of the world.
"Bloody hell," I muttered, throwing the lewd paperback into the dark reaches of the basement and getting up to pace, lighting a cigarette with unaccountably shaky hands. This guilt stuff was something I was unprepared for, and had really never experienced. I always tried to rationalize it to myself - my broken promise. Glory was gone. BuffyBot was doing a bang-up job if you ignored the nonsense that came out of its' mouth, and Giles and the Scoobies had been taking good care of Dawn by the time I left.
Still, if she knew I hadn't kept my promise, the Slayer would be turning over in her grave.
'Turning over in her grave' - the words slammed me back to reality so hard I actually tried to gasp without breath and doubled over, the pain sending me reeling out into the damp, cold night in an effort to flee my thoughts.
That never works; I have tried it before, numerous times.
It was really cold now, the middle of winter in London being just as damp as the rainy Spring and Summer days, but a lot colder. I just walked, fast, going along blindly, trying to outrun the wash of pain and emptiness that had overtaken me back in the basement. At full speed, I knew I couldn't go fast enough.
I found myself in still more dark alleys, and then I was in another 'business section.' Lots to do in London Town if you know where to look. I had in mind to visit a bar instead, though, and eased into one as unnoticed as possible. I didn't know if anyone was still looking for a handsome, blond man with long teeth.
I ordered bourbon, and sat at the end of the bar, away from the people and the mirrors. Even so, I felt the heat of the woman as she slid onto the stool next to me. I was trying to drown my sorrows, not complicate them, so I ignored her.
She must have had a quota for the night.
"Hey, Ducks," she tried happily, sliding a hand across the black denim covering my thigh. "Alone tonight?"
I drained the glass and motioned for another before I turned to look at her.
A fucking blonde. I hate blondes. All except one.
"Sod off," I told her, none too gently, either.
"Hey," she objected. "I'm just trying to be nice,"
"Be nice elsewhere," I warned her, reaching for my second drink and tossing it down. A quick barkeep, just what I liked. I noticed her hand was still on my thigh, and the heat coming through reminded me of my aborted fuck earlier.
So I was guilty, in pain and unsatisfied, too.
"And remove the hand, Ducks, before I do. I'm not into blondes, and if I were, it would never be you."
More bloody pain now, that phrase was going to be the undoing of me yet. At least I had used it on someone, instead of vice versa. I reached down and flung her rough hand away from my leg, throwing some cash on the bar and heading out without another word.
I wasn't too far from the river; maybe I could impale myself on something and fall in.
It was colder still by the Thames, and all the lights on the bridge and on the various buildings on the banks did nothing to dispel the bone- deep chill. Not that something like that really bothered me.
Nothing like London in the dead of winter, though, I mused.
It would be warmer in Sunnydale. I cursed myself inwardly. I wasn't strong enough to go back. And I wasn't strong enough to stay away, either.
I stood on the walkway, traffic rushing past behind me, and watched the old river drift beneath on its' way to whatever ultimate place it ended up. I was in no mood to search my brain for a geography lesson. I could jump in, but then I would be wet as well as cold-blooded, and wet didn't appeal to me just then. Also, as I glanced around, I didn't see anything even remotely resembling a wooden stake, so my self-destructive thoughts of a few minutes ago would go unfulfilled.
Like me. Like my promise.
And why in bleeding Hell did Fate, or whoever, pick just that particular time for the Slayer to die anyway? Having outlived all the others, why did they take her away from me just when she was starting to see me as something a bit more than a monster?
Why can't I just find a decent, sane vampiress to spend my nights and days with?
"Because that's not what I want," I told myself out loud.
There might have been a ghost of a chance, just the crumb I had practically begged her for - but no more.
Well, that wasn't doing me any good, just standing there being maudlin, so I headed off the bridge in search of another tavern. Which probably wouldn't do me any good either.
Someone else was on the walkway, heading toward me. Some other lost soul, probably trying to escape something. I hoped he wasn't succeeding either.
As we came nearer, my vampire senses perked up unaccountably. Back in the old days, BC (Before Chip), I would have kept my eye on him, nodded good evening as we passed each other, and then turned around and sated myself without remorse. The chip, of course, would not allow me to do that, and even now, thinking about it, I could feel the tiniest discomfort in my head. But my other senses, the natural ones, which are supernaturally heightened by being what I was, they were kicking in and going on high alert.
It was the build, and the faint scent approaching, the simple feel of the human before me. I knew that person.
Three more steps toward him and I knew who it was.
Rupert Giles.
He had, by this time, caught sight of me as well, and I am sure he was as surprised as I was, seeing the bridge lights glinting on platinum hair, the silhouette of the long black coat I still wore.
I figured I should plunge right in.
"Ripper! Fancy meeting you here! Kicked you out of the Hellmouth, have they? When did you come back to the old stomping grounds?"
Rupert Giles slowed to a halt as he got closer to me. He was blinking in surprise behind his glasses.
"Spike!" he exclaimed. "It is you! What an unpleasant surprise! Still not the most pleasant chap on the face of the earth, are you, William? How have you been? Still all defanged and impotent, are you?"
"Chipped, not defanged, and sodding well not impotent," I insisted. "Now, tell me, Rupert, what brings you.."
I never even saw it coming when he punched me in the face.
I reeled back against the walkway railing, vamping out before I could stop myself, and so of course I got the usual headache. But the fact that the Ripper had apparently thought nothing of simply attacking me definitely let me know he wasn't glad to see me.
I held up my hands to keep him away, getting my face under control. "Did you come here looking for me, just to do that? Hardly fair, since you know I can't fight back properly. If I could, you wouldn't stand a chance in Hell of getting off this bridge in one piece, and you fucking well know it!"
"You left town, Spike. You left and you didn't even tell anyone. We went looking for your help so many times before we realized you weren't off behind some bar cheating at poker or conning someone out of something. You promised Buffy, I know this. And you left. Not that it wasn't good riddance and all that anyway, mind you."
Well, he had called me on it. Someone besides myself had finally said out loud that I was a deserter.
"I couldn't stay anymore. I couldn't fucking stand to be around anymore. Not around the Hellmouth, not around you and the Scoobies and especially not around Dawn! I didn't know how hard it would be! I never thought she would be the one who didn't make it! I wanted it to be me. I still want it to be me."
Giles was having none of the excuses. Like the authoritative Watcher I always knew he could be, he was still protecting his Slayer.
"Well, we needed you back then. We all needed you. And don't think for one minute we relished that fact. There were so many demons."
I interrupted him. I had laid enough guilt on myself, I didn't need another layer from old English.
"You were doing all right, and I knew you would be fine and dandy without old Spike trailing along. Half of you were probably glad I was gone and I'm bloody sure the other half didn't care either way. The 'Bot was doing a first rate job. And the witches were already taking over caring for the Lil' Bit. My work was done. And while we're on the subject, I see you left town, too. Aren't you needed anymore either? Did Witch Willow manage to get herself in total control of everything?"
This seemed to hit home, as a strange expression came over his face. I had touched a nerve with the mention of Willow, and I suspected my inner fears of her burgeoning involvement in the Craft turning into trouble might have come to pass.
"Well, you have a point there, Spike, but that's hardly what we are discussing."
"What discussing? You slammed me in the bloody nose!"
He took a deep breath. "Things are going perfectly well in Sunnydale, Spike. If you had stuck around you might have just been mucking up the works. As it is."
"Well, from what I hear, and I do keep up, the so-called Slayer is still kicking demon ass in the Hellmouth. Good thing Willow knows so much about computers, I guess."
"You don't know," Giles breathed in disbelief.
"Don't know what?" I asked him, getting aggravated, needing another bourbon or five.
Giles smiled sadly. "You don't know why I left Sunnydale. I really had to, you see. Didn't want to, of course. She's like a daughter to me. I love her desperately, but she depends on me too much. Leaving there was the only way I could make her face up to her duties. After she came back..."
I couldn't hear anymore. My brain froze and the bridge walkway was suddenly gone from beneath my feet. Blackness fell across my eyes and my mind reeled. I grabbed his shoulders, ignoring the niggling pain in my head.
"What are you saying? What the bloody fuck are you talking about?"
He shrugged me off distastefully. "I am talking about Buffy. The woman you had professed long and loudly to love. The woman you deserted. I should stake you where you stand just on general principle!"
"The woman is dead!" I railed at him, all-consuming torment rearing its' ugly head in my insides. "She doesn't need me anymore for fuck all! And as for stakes, I'm already pulverized. Staking would just make it official."
Giles got dangerously calm then, and I unconsciously backed up a step, hating the action the moment I did it.
"The woman is alive, Spike. And guess what, she still doesn't need you for fuck all, as you so basely put it. I said we needed you. Past tense, Spike. But she's back and in the best shape ever. Taking life and all demons by the horns, so to speak."
I was angry then, at the audaciousness of the witch, and still trying to absorb this incredible information. "Willow, right? How dare she? Is Buffy..is she..?
"Normal?" he finished the question I was afraid to ask, then nodded. "As far as we can tell. She was quite a bit disoriented when she got back, and there was a slight problem with the spell, so she ended up having to dig herself out of the grave."
I winced at that, anger growing inside, overpowering guilt and pain. Willow. She left her.
But then, so did I.
"And she's all right now? And everyone else?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, they all appear to be fine. Buffy has had a rough time of it, adjusting and all. She was, after all, dead for three months, and there are a lot of things that need attending to, but she's managing beautifully. So she never needed you after all."
I was grinding my molars in anger and frustration, trying to keep it under control. "And why," I bit off shortly, "are you here tormenting me anyway?"
He laughed darkly. "It was just sheer bad luck, Spike. I couldn't sleep and thought a walk would tire me out. I never thought I would run into you here, or I would have gone in another direction, believe me."
"I need a drink," I decided abruptly, brushing past him and heading off the bridge walkway again. Got to find a tavern, no doubt about it. Maybe a demon or two to massacre on the way. "Nice talking to you, Rip."
"Nice seeing you again, Spike," he shouted after me sarcastically.
It took me ten bourbons to gather up the courage to make the decision. I never bloody cared what her Watcher said before, so why should I start now? Off I went, back to the Hellmouth yet again.
To be continued