6. Truth
"Ow!!!! Bloody Hell!!" Spike cried as Buffy slammed her fist into his face with a blow that sent him flying into the crypt wall. He stood up quickly and backed away, wiping a thumb to the dribble of blood that ran down the corner of his mouth.
"Can't say I didn't deserve –" he began sincerely, avoiding eye contact with the angry slayer.
"So this is what you're doing with your new soul Spike? Beating up my friends?!" She accused angrily. She was using the anger as a front, as a barrier to her deeper emotions. It was a method that she had used her whole life as a slayer to keep the feelings that were buried dangerously close to the surface, at bay. It prevented her from feeling vulnerable, and gave her a sense of power and control over any challenging situation. However, with Spike it was difficult, because he always managed to pierce through her walls so easily, and openly read what lay within…a feeling she hated. "Well what would you fancy I'd have done? Sat there like a ninny while the blighter puts a stake in my chest? Not bloody likely, that. I'll be damned 'for I let that wanker take me out." He retorted indignantly, standing straight to face her, but still not looking into her eyes. She hit him again, hard, in the nose, and he stumbled, falling onto his back.
"Don't play games with me, and don't lie to me, or I'll put a stake in your chest." She threatened mercilessly.
"I'm not!" he insisted with determination. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him expectantly. Spike sighed and shut his eyes for a moment before recalling the story. "I was out walkin…mindin my own, and the stupid git jus' popped outta the shadows…went all, 'Walker: Texas Ranger' on me. Said he was gonna kill me…soul or not." He explained with complete honesty, his voice cracking on the word 'soul.'
"You're saying that Xander attacked you?" she asked dubiously. Spike nodded. "Damn right I am. Bugger went after me like a bleeding lunatic, so I hit him. I was all for the pain, but—"
"It didn't come." Buffy finished quietly, putting the puzzle pieces together in her mind.
He nodded again. "So…I gave 'im a lit'l taste of his own before takin off…Bloke deserved it though." He added defensively. She believed him. She knew Spike well enough to recognize when he was being honest, and it corresponded with Xander's reaction when he found out about Spike. The pieces fit, and she knew it was the truth, even if she didn't want it to be, but she wasn't ready to give Spike the benefit of the doubt.
"Why should I believe you? Why should I trust anything you say?" she challenged. Up until this point there had been no discussion of Spike's attack. Buffy had not been emotionally prepared to confront the incident, and Spike had not been mentally sound to, but it hung unspoken in the air between them, raw and bleeding like torn flesh, and thick like an invisible barrier. Spike knew the implications that lay in her question, and he put his head down. He'd not met Buffy's eye since that night in her bathroom when he realized in shock what he'd done. That once had been too much. In those fleeting moments as he stared, gaping, at his love lying bruised and violated on the white tile floor, he was for the first time, able to see his own reflection. He did not view it in physical form, and it was not mirrored within Buffy's glassy lenses, but as he looked into her eyes, he saw all the pain, and all the hurt, that was because of him. In the injury and revulsion that smeared her face, he saw himself, and through the love that raged like a wildfire in his chest, the true nature of his being was revealed to him. The gift of vision that love gives us all, allowed Spike to recognize his own evil from the heart's perspective. He saw himself as she saw him. He saw a monster. That night he had run away from it; run away from him self, unable to face the truth of what he'd done, and what he was. He blamed Buffy, vowing rage filled revenge, because he couldn't cope with the guilt. After all, being angry was much easier than being in pain, but he never loved her any less, and the demon saw through that. He saw through the misplaced anger, and deep into Spike's latent desires. He sensed so clearly, like crystal in the sunlight, his want of a soul, that it almost blinded him. Spike got what he ultimately wanted, even if he didn't know he wanted it at the time, and now, as he stood in front of her, he too realized the truth. At first he felt shock, but then it made sense to him in some strange way, and he was not surprised. It was like waking from a thick haze of denial.
"Buffy…" he half whispered, collapsing onto his knees in front of her.
"Don't say it! Don't you dare tell me you're sorry!" She commanded fiercely, her eyes beginning to water over. "What you did to me…what you tried to do to me…" she blinked back tears. " 'sorry' will never be enough."
"Buffy please…" he groveled, putting his hands on his head and bending towards the ground in desperation.
"No….Spike don't." she said demandingly, but as the familiar words left her mouth, a vivid flash back of Spike pinning her violently, and unrelentingly to the floor, raided her mind. She shut her eyes against the still fresh pain and humiliation, and attempted to take hold of her composer. "I can't…I can't do this…it's too hard." she cried, a few tears slipping free from the well that had pooled under her eyelids. "If you apologize to me right now, I might kill you." She declared rather unsteadily, backing away.
"Please…" he whispered, pulling together what courage he had left inside him to look, terror stricken, up into face. "Don't forgive me." He pleaded with self- loathing. "Buffy, Please don't forgive me." She stared at him, internally rocked by his words. They were the same exact words that she had spoken, between sobs, into Tara's lap. Yet another cruel nexus between herself and Spike was revealed. "I think I wanted this…" he cried in devastation. "some part 'a me…for you…I did it…for you…but…God! I didn't want…this!" he rambled, staring at Buffy, but past her, deep into something else that was not visible in this physical plane. This is too much…I can't… what did I do? What have I done? I didn't see it before…it was too dark…but now the glow bug's inside, and I can see… It was right in front of my eyes…You can't…You can't tell anyone…the things I've done…No one can know!!" He babbled, his voice cracking with emotional frenzy.
"Spike…you're losing it." Buffy said shakily, stepping back to where she was in front of him. "You need to calm down, and get your thoughts straigh—"
"I didn't know!!" he cried suddenly, startling her as he leaped up, and grasped hold of her arm. "It just happened…and after I told you, that I don't hurt you…and you trusted me…maybe…for once….I didn't know how to behave!" he choked through tears, letting go of her, and turning around so that she could not see his face. Buffy's heart pounded with adrenaline, and she bit her lip to stave off another stream of her own tears. She had never felt so many emotions at once. She wanted to comfort him, hate him, forgive him, and kill him all at the same time; so instead, she did to Spike what came natural to her. She hit him. Hard. "You tried to rape me Spike! How can you say you love someone, and then do what you did to me?" He looked up at her from where he had landed on the ground, his eyes red and blurry with tears, and his face twisted with self-disgust and surrender. Buffy didn't want to see it though. She wanted him to think that he was right, be defensive, and fight back, because she was very angry. The anger filled her, and she wanted so badly to hurt him; to make him pay for his mistake, for how he had made her feel that night. She wanted more than anything to punish him, but she couldn't bring herself to do so when he was already punishing himself so severely.
"I know…" he said, stumbling backwards and squeezing his eyes shut "I'm…nothing. I'm…beneath you…"
"Shut up!!" she cried, kicking him in the face to drown out his words. "C'mon Spike…why don't you stand your ground? Save what dignity you have left." she instigated, trying her best to be cruel; to keep the anger running hot and volatile, and not give in to the pitiful, helpless, form in front of her. "Don't you wanna hurt the one you love some more?" she pressed on, silently begging him to get up and claim proud responsibility, so she could teach him the lesson he'd already learned.
"No! Please…Buffy…I'm awful…I'm an awful thing…just please…please hurt me. Hurt me till it's enough!"
"Shut up!" she wailed, but this time the sobs slipped through, frosting her anger with tears of compassion and pity. She hit him again, but this time with significantly less force. Spike let the weak blow send him falling back onto the cement with total apathy, and he lay there, staring brokenly into the cement. Buffy could hold it to together no longer, and she surrendered as well, covering her face with her hands, and weeping almost silently into the darkness.
Buffy pulled herself together after several long moments, wiping her eyes dry with her hands. Spike had not moved from the floor, and it was silent inside the crypt except for his ragged (though unnecessary), breathing. Buffy walked slowly over to him, and kneeled down, taking a long, deep breath before speaking. "Spike…I think…that you need to get out of this place for a while." She said quietly, looking around the dank, dark whole that he had called home for the past three years. "If you stay in here, cooped up this way…" she trailed off.
"There's…no where…" he grumbled raggedly, sitting up slowly but keeping his eyes to the ground.
"Well…I'll see if maybe I can find you some place…something…better than this…" Buffy offered, returning to her feet. Spike only signed heavily and put his head into his knees, struggling to maintain his momentary stability and mental clarity. Buffy looked down at him on the ground, at a total loss for words, or even constructive thoughts for that matter. She felt like she was lost in a thick forest, and every moment that passed was a fight through the brush. "Spike…" she half whispered. "Oh my God." She shut her eyes. "…Spike…what do we do?" She asked almost rhetorically, rolling her head back to search the ceiling for answers.
He offered no reply, only the muffled sound of his body rocking slowly back and forth.