Try as I may, my mind seems to be in a perpetual state of disquietude. It isn't that I have a constant companion, though having these somewhat strangers watching my attempt at slumber would likely prevent such activity. It is this somewhat constant feeling that my fate is, and seemingly always has been, in the hands of someone else. And I find that thought rather disconcerting.
"William, you're going to wear a rut in the carpet. Is there something on your mind?" Wesley asks, drawing me from my thoughts. It's getting easier with time to adapt to thinking of everyone in such informal ways.
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact," I confess. "You are adept at battling creatures of the night, yes?"
I can see that my question has caught him off guard, but only momentarily. He quickly takes on a look of consideration and then answers with a half-smile, "Enough to get by."
I take that to be a yes.
"Why do you ask?"
Indeed. Why did I ask? Will he think me a fool? A nancy? At this point does it matter what he thinks?
"I hope you won't think less of me for asking, but I noticed a small armory in the great room, and was wondering if you might instruct me regarding the use of some of those weapons?"
He gives me a measured look, and I wonder if my inquiry was somehow offensive. But how could it be?
"Any that you particularly had in mind?" He asks.
"Well… all of them," I reply, feeling a bit of heat coloring my face. I shake it off and return his look. "I would like to be able to defend myself with any means I can, if possible."
He seems to consider that for a period, as the moments stretch into an awkward silence.
"Are you afraid we can't protect you?" He finally asks.
"No, no… nothing like that. I just…" I just what? A lengthy sigh escapes me as I finish my thought. "I just find that I'd really rather not die… again."
"I'd say that's a fairly rational thought."
"Is it? I don't know that I'd really given it considerable thought back before I was brought to this century." I really hadn't. "Pondering one's own mortality seemed a rather morbid curiosity I preferred not to engage in."
"I think most people prefer not to consider their own eventual death." He answers patiently.
"And yet, I find that at the moment I must rather inescapably consider it," I reply.
"And what have you concluded from your musings?"
"That I find myself with a certain determination that I'd much rather prefer to live than to become a creature of the night once again." I stop and look at him in earnest. "Even if that isn't what Miss Buffy would prefer."
"William…" He begins and then pauses. "May I give you a piece of advice?"
I wonder what it is he plans to say?
"I suppose," I answer hesitantly.
"I seems to me that you've lived your life according to what you think others want. I understand your mother was ill?" He asks.
"Consumption, yes," I answer. It still drives a sharp pain inside my heart to think upon what I did. Even if I did it out of love.
"And then you took care of Drusilla for more than a hundred years."
"So I've been told," I answer.
"And now, you are considering everything in the light of what you think Buffy might want," He pauses. "William, have you ever stopped to think about what it is that you want?"
Well, of course, I have! Haven't I? I certainly wanted Cecily at the time, though now that I know what she truly was and why she rejected me so, I'm rather glad she did. Which seems an odd thought. Having been so enamored of her, shouldn't that thought grieve me more?
I wanted to see mother cured and enjoying her health. Isn't that what any proper son would want? Where is the error in that?
And as much as I may come to regret it, I really do want to make Miss Buffy happy. I want to see her smile and have her mind at ease that I am not some child-like creature she must protect. I want to be able to walk beside her without her worrying about what might happen. I want to take her walking in the sunlight and watch as the wind plays with the spun gold wreathing her head like a glorious crown of divine origin.
God, I really am hopelessly in love with her, aren't I?
"Not to interrupt your thoughts, but what I meant is… what do you want for yourself, William?"
He seems to know the direction of my thoughts. Am I so shallow that this stranger can detect them? What do I want for myself? At the moment? I really want to stay alive. And I want to be able to defend myself with more than just a sword. I've never been much for fisticuffs, preferring to avoid a row if possible. Father was always insistent that if I should ever engage in such behavior, I'd better return the victor. Being a rather slight boy in my youth, that wasn't generally the case. I didn't seem to gain any sort of physical build until much later in my youth, and by then the die was cast. Not that I didn't want to teach some of them a rather brutal lesson in manners, but by that point, I really was rather at a loss as to just how.
But to hear Angel tell it, and reading the recorded history regarding my behavior as a creature of the night, apparently, this was something I quickly overcame. Angel posited that it was something still there. Or rather, something that always was there. Had I really just seized the opportunity to live by my fists and fortitude? He said I'd start a pub row. Or incite a mob. Sought out slayers for the challenge they posed. Goodness knows Buffy is certainly a challenge, though certainly of a different kind. And yet, just thinking of her is enough to exhilarate my being.
Is this Spike creature still a part of me? Is it something still lurking inside myself, waiting for the opportune moment? I can certainly see parallels, but are we truly one and the same, just with a different drive and controlling forces?
Alas, I think too much. It has always been a perilous and frivolous habit of mine. At the moment, there is but one subject of significant importance.
"I want to live." I fix Wesley with a determined stare.
"Fair enough," He answers, giving me a strangely knowing nod of acknowledgment. "Though, I must admit I'm probably not the best person to instruct you. Gunn is far more adept in hand to hand combat, and as for weapons… Angel would really be the expert in that area."
I am uncertain about approaching Angel regarding this matter, but if he is indeed the expert then perhaps that is the best avenue to pursue if I am to survive this ordeal…
"No! I'm not gonna do it!" Angel sets his hands upon his hips in a rather agitated stance. "You run into a vampire, you don't try to fight it or play the hero, you run." He asserts.
"And precisely where in this establishment am I to run to? I have no certainty of the building's design, nor familiarity with the passages. If I were confronted at any moment, should I not be able to offer up some sort of defense to dissuade the creature from their purpose?"
I'm not entirely unagitated myself. His determination that I should not defend myself is making me rather short-tempered. I often forget how short my temperament can be.
"Angel, man, I think the guy's got a point. Some basic self-defense couldn't hurt." Gunn offers his thoughts on the proposal.
"No, he doesn't have a point. Unless the point is to figure out the quickest way to get himself killed." Angel's retort is even more biting.
"I'm not some useless weakling!" I protest.
"You've already been bitten at least twice!" He says, pointing to the scars on my neck.
"Perhaps if someone had explained to me what I was facing and why I might not have found myself in the midst of a pack of savage creatures who were rather determined to seek revenge for whatever I did as Spike!" My voice is rising in a clear challenge. "Ignorance has never been the appropriate answer to danger. So why don't you at least show me how to defend myself so that next time I don't have to depend on someone else to come to my rescue?"
He appears to waver at that. Perhaps I am getting through to him?
"I am already rather adept with the use of a sword. But I am unfamiliar and unskilled with the use of a wooden stake, perhaps that is where we could start? Surely you won't deny me that?"
He expels a great sigh as his piercing gaze seems to stare right through me.
"Fine," He says as he throws up his hands and turns away from me to walk towards the small armory cabinet. "Fine. I should know by now that once you've got an idea in your head you aren't letting go of it no matter how stupid it is."
"See here!" I answer, feeling myself getting rather irate. "I'll not be insulted in such a manner!"
"Yeah?" He turns and looks at me, crossing his arms over his chest. "What're you planning to do about it?"
Well, now that is the question, isn't it? What can I do? He's a far larger fellow than I, and a creature of the night, with presumably all the strength and speed inherent to such a condition.
"I'll tell you what you're going to do," He says, walking closer and closer with each word. "Nothing," He says as he stops immediately in front of me. "Because you're a weak, useless, dimwitted, idiot."
With each word he says, I feel myself growing more and more enraged. How dare he! I've been thrown through time, forsaking everything I've known or loved, found out I've been a creature damned to hell for a century and played for a fool.
And suddenly, he's a half step away from me, clutching his jaw. As a vague discomfort in my hand begins to pierce my awareness, it registers that I've actually struck the fellow. I contemplate whether I should apologize, but at the moment I don't think I will.
"You feel it, William?" Angel asks, stepping back in front of me with a smirk. "The passion that fueled that punch you just threw?"
I think I am beginning to understand what he's talking about.
"That's your biggest asset. Always has been. Channel it. You've always had more passion than all of us put together. Don't be afraid to use it."
I look down at my left hand, noting that I've actually split one of the knuckles and it's bleeding. For some reason, that almost seems to amuse me.
"Or maybe," He says, once again invading my presence with his extreme nearness and forcing me to look upward. "You really are just a foppish, limp, coward, and that's why Buffy left without saying goodbye."
The next few moments all seem to blur together, and I'm not entirely certain how I've ended up straddling over Angel as he is laying on the floor, laughing as he swipes a trickle of blood from his lip.
Is this me? Have I done this? A strange and dawning awareness confirms that yes, I did do this. And this is very much me. And it actually feels rather satisfying. And more than a little painful now that I consider it. But still… satisfying.
And then the whole world comes to a stop as a soft ethereal voice cuts through the air like a sword slicing through the veil separating the mortal realm from the divine… or from hell itself.
"Tisk, tisk! You've been a bad daddy... teaching the naught kitty to hunt before it's cut his teeth! Mustn't teach kitty tricks he's not ready for! Or shall I make him ready?"