4.Surrender and Accept
Spike paced the dark ally ways of Sunnydale, trying to string together some sense of organization between his thoughts, feelings, and general state of mind. The encounter with Dawn had infuriated him, mostly because what she said had been the truth, and he didn't want to believe that he'd ever neglected her that way. He was angry. He was angry with her for throwing this upon him now of all times, but really he was angry with himself: angry for hurting her, and hating himself for what he did to Buffy. He groaned, kicking the rusted green dumpster next to him. He didn't need this now. His thoughts were racing uncontrollably, and his feelings danced cruelly around his heart in indecipherable patterns. Since being tossed into this murky ocean of confusion and disarray, he had been able to come to one solid conclusion. He was still relatively himself. He'd cowered in the corner of his crypt the entire night before, terrified of what his soul was going to do to him; terrified that it would make him forget all that he had been as a conscious entity, and blind him of perspective. This was not the case though. He was still able to embrace his general identity, and this calmed the spurts of panic that crawled up his chest like waves into his stilled heart. This was his only consolation though. The humanity had saturated him completely, and he turned suddenly to slam his fists against the damp brick wall next to him, wishing for the billionth time that he were dust. The faces of his murder victims rose from the depths of his unconscious, to show once more their eyes as he drained them of blood, of life, but he forced them back angrily. For the first time in Spike's afterlife, he was fighting his heart with his mind, instead of the other way around. For two years, he had fought logic and reason to earn just one more second in the slayer's presence, and now he called on that same reasoning to spare his sanity from being ripped apart at the seams.
"It wasn't my fault!" he cried to the terrified faces inside his head. "What was I supposed to do? Bloody starve?!" He grabbed his forehead with his hands and tugged madly at the bleached curls on top. Racking sobs began to creep up, starting in his stomach and then squeezing their way obstructively into his throat, but he choked them down with rage, nearly gagging himself with the physical effort. "No!" he barked. "I'm not gonna be sorry! I did…what I had to do…" he panted. "I did what vampires do…it's what they do!!" he pleaded with the countless bodies that were piling up in bloody heaps behind his eyelids. "I never asked…to be turned…and I damn well didn't ask to be made into a blubbering ninny!" He was pacing again now, and muttering matter of factly to some spot on the wall that moved along with his erratic strides. "I was just makin' due with what I had…makin a life for myself…doin' what comes natural. Damned buggering soul!" he raged, dropping to his knees. He had been resisting its presence unrelentingly since the moment the soul was released into him; trying to separate it from him self, isolate it, and in essence, have control over it, but this was a battle that could not be won, and he was growing weary of fighting. It was now a part of who he was and he could not change that. He fell to his knees, and laid down slowly in the damp cold ally, covering his face with his arms. With a deep throaty sigh, he let go, finally, of his pride, and surrendered, weeping into the ground, and staining the musty pavement with his tears.
Spike had no idea how much time had passed when he finally sat up from the filth coated cement, but when he looked upwards, he noticed that the thick night sky was lightened now to a soft blue, and the stars had begun to fade, semi-invisible, back into hiding. His stomach ached from sobbing, and he stayed for a moment, keeled over, before standing up to brush the dirt from his body. As he reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette, he suddenly felt eyes burning into his back, and he flipped around to confront a dark figure standing in the entrance to the alley way.
"Oh…buggerin 'ell." he cursed irritably as he recognized who it was.
"Shouldn't you be off somewhere wallowing in self pity, like the pathetic loser that you are?" Xander asked nastily.
"Piss off, Harris." He replied, waving his hand towards Xander in a motion to leave him be. "Last thing I wanna do right now is listen to your flapping pie hole."
"That works out for you then." He said stepping towards Spike. "Cuz I don't plan on doing much talking." As he stepped nearer, Spike noticed the stake clutched in Xander's hand. Spike looked at him with amusement.
" So you're gonna stake me then?" he asked with a chuckle.
"Yah, I am." Xander replied, angry that he was not being taken seriously.
"You don't have the bullocks." Spike challenged casually, lighting a cigarette. "Never did."
"Wanna test that theory?" Xander replied, beads of nervous sweat appearing on his forehead. "Trust me Spike, I've got no problem dusting a scum-of-the-earth waste of space like you…soul or not."
"Ahh…so you've heard the big news, yah?" he remarked, looking mildly surprised. "Come to make certain I'm never forgiven, have you? Right then. How bloody mature of you." He said with sarcasm. "Ya know…almost as mature as skittering away like a frightened puppy dog on your special day! Bravo Harris." he taunted, putting the cigarette between his lips and clapping his hands together slowly. "You've really proved yourself a respectable bloke these days." He chuckled. "And you're here to judge me...now that's a bloody brain buster." He finished with a smirk that caused his high and finely sculpted cheekbones to protrude with mockery. Taking a drag from his cigarette, he swaggered closer to the angry man in the dark.
"Ya know…" Xander began. "I thought maybe you'd be different…maybe you'd cut the arrogant bullshit for once…finally show a little respect for the guy that's gonna end your miserable—"
"Oh, wait!" Spike interrupted with a chortle. "Let me guess. You want me to beg you for my life, 's that it?" He asked. "Get down on my knees and plead? Oh Xander! Have mercy! Spare my pathetic existence!! I never meant any of those nasty things I said to you!" he mocked dramatically, putting his hands together to feign prayer. "You'd fancy that wouldn't you?" Xander didn't answer; didn't move. "Well I'll let you in on a lit'l secret." Spike continued. "I'd dust myself before I ever begged you for a bloody thing. The fact that I despise your sorry hide 's got nothing to do with bein evil. 'S got to do with you being a whining, cowardly, leech of society, that's gonna stake a bloke who cant even defend himself. You're a loser Xander…always have been…always will be." He said, dropping his cigarette butt and grinding it into the ground. Xander stood for a moment in silence. His eyes contained something between a mix of rage and pleasure, and then he leaped at the vampire, slamming his fist into Spike's nose as hard as he could. Spike went flying backwards, crashing unceremoniously into a decaying pile of wood pallets that lay against the wall, his nose dripping with blood. Xander ran to where he lay, stake poised for attack, but Spike grabbed his arm suddenly. "This is gonna sting like a bloody bitch, but it'll be worth it." he said, right before hauling his fist into Xander's jaw. He flew back and hit the ground, and Spike grabbed his head in anticipation, but the pain didn't come.
The two men stared at each other in shock from their positions on the ground. A slow grin crawled its way onto Spike's face as Xander scurried onto his feet in fear. "Looks like Mr. Cave demon got somethin right after all." he declared, climbing to his feet and wiping the blood from his nose. Xander braced himself, and then charged the vampire, punching him in the face, and then in the stomach. Spike felt it, but was not phased. "Oh…this is going to be all sorts of fun." He gloated, walking menacingly towards Xander with a triumphant grin full of white teeth. Xander tried to punch him, but Spike grabbed his fist in mid flight, and landed his own fist into Xander's gut. "Yeah. Definitely fun." Spike said decidedly as he grabbed the quickly tiring man by his throat, and slammed him up against the wall. Xander tried to escape the tight grasp, but it was pointless. Spike was much stronger than he would ever be. Before he could open his mouth in protest, Spike was punching him repeatedly in the face and kneeing him in the stomach. "How does it feel you buggering ponce?!" he seethed. He was suddenly no longer enjoying himself. All the rage that he'd been forced to bottle up for the last few years was bursting forth with unbridled freedom. Spike and Xander had always had a certain distaste for one another, and when Spike became chipped, Xander took that opportunity to degrade, harass, and occasionally beat upon him as often as he could, with the comfort of knowing that Spike could do nothing in defense. For three years he sat and took it, because he had no other choice. For three years that rage had been brewing into a fine hatred, and now it finally had an outlet. Suddenly Xander was in air as Spike hauled him across the ally way. He slammed into the opposing brick with a heavy thump. The wind had been knocked out of him, and he was gasping for air. His ribs were on fire, both his eyes were beginning to bruise, and blood dripped from his nose and mouth. Spike stormed at him and picked him up, slamming him to the wall once more. "God…stop….oh God." Xander gasped. Spike began to raise his fist to him again, but stopped, looking at Xander with confusion, as though his brain just now realized what his body was doing. A nauseous look passed over his face and he let go of Xander's arms, watching him slid slowly down to the ground.
"I'm gonna stop now." Spike panted, almost to himself. "This…" he mumbled, backing slowly away from a bruised and bloody Xander. "I'm done with this." Xander laid his head against the wall in relief. "I could kill you right now." He said quietly without a hint of arrogance. "But I'm not gonna stoop to your level" A pause. "You're not bloody worth it." Lighting a cigarette, he turned and made his way back to the cemetery just in time to escape the searing rays of sunrise.