Angel’s eyes widened. “Who did you say you were again, Spike?”
“I’m William of course who’s this Spike?”
The very fact that Spike was stringing incoherent half-sentences together should have been enough of a sign for Angel. Spike was, indeed, imbued with those contrasting and conflicting and polar-opposite qualities of William, and however that managed to happen is a complete mystery. Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the torment. But for now, it’s William.
“It was my fault...” Spike put his hands over his face, shielding out the fluorescent lights of the long hallway and massaging his temples roughly.
“I’m a bad person I’m very sick I’m not well...” Spike stood still for a second and searched for hope in his mind. Or something, anything to make him feel like a human being.
He couldn’t find anything. “...no not very well at all I’m very bad.”
Clips and phrases ahoy, Angel knew Spike meant what he said; the depressed man was wholly perturbed and believed his conviction, the candid aroma of the ramble reigning supreme. “No you’re not. If this is a short story, then maybe you got a little hamartia—”
“No I’m a terrible person I deserve to d—”
“Sp—I mean William...”
Spike backed away from Angel in a reverse crawl, still on the ground. “Don’t make me talk about it Angel I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“What?” Angel snuck a few paces closer to Spike, or whoever was possessing the platinum man.
Spike shook his head quickly. “Don’t make me no I don’t want to don’t make me...”
“I’m not making you do anything.”
“It wasn’t my fault I was drunk I was inebriated I was tipsy goddamnit it wasn’t my fault I wasn’t there I dunno what happened...”
“...what?” Angel tried to understand.
“I ruined her life, man.” Spike said the last word deeply. “I told Faith and her friends about Buffy’s big secret, man.”
“Everything?” Angel gulped as memories of Buffy falling over the edge blinked before his eyes.
“Everything... and I can’t even cry about it... can’t even wallow in my own self-pity... in my pity for her... I’m a sick horrible twisted person... can’t you see? I don’t deserve her I don’t deserve your friendship I don’t deserve anything... nothing. I see my heart and wanna decorate it like a grave...”
Angel didn’t like what he was hearing. Did Spike honestly...? “I think—”
But Spike was already back at it again. “I am the leper Messiah I am the great Flood I parted the Red Sea watched the peasants run in and drowned all of them.”
Spike flinched. “Six days it was six days I’m sure it was six days.”
“I really think you shouldn’t—”
“Maybe it was seven I didn’t go to church when I was little didn’t follow the war.” Spike shook his head. “You like Hamlet—Shakespeare wrote a lot of tragedies while he was nailing Marlowe’s leftovers Doctor Faustus is about this guy Doctor Faustus who sells his soul for knowledge and power.”
“I’ve seen—”
“Or was that Hemingway and Picasso with the leftovers? Fucking sun always rising the sun always falls the world isn’t worth fighting for... stupid stupid Hemingway.”
“I—”
“Crime and Punishment definitely Crime and Punishment.”
“Wi—”
“I need my Soma now please help me get my Soma in this brave new world.”
“I don’t know who Soma is,” Angel breathed, glad he finally got a sentence out.
“It’s just a little tablet this big.” Spike pinched his fingers together to show the size of the pill. He tried to look through the small slit the two fingers made with his darting blue eyes but couldn’t. “An apple—a swallow a day keeps the doctor away... wait—”
Spike’s eyes widened. “Blowjob Buffy blowjob Buffy Faith Blowjob... I’m a pagan I’m bad I deserve to die.”
Spike sprung up to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Angel asked wearily. He didn’t want to leave Spi—err... William unattended.
“Too deep used teeth not good used teeth... should have known used teeth but didn’t know bad person.” Spike started pulling his hair. “Told secrets bad person.”
He pulled harder at his hair. “BAD PERSON!”
This needed to stop. Now. “Am I gonna have to punch you? Like in Fight Club?”
Spike still clenched his blonde hair. “Fight Club Tyler Durden the first rule of fight club is to not talk about fight club the second rule of fight club is to not talk about fight club the third rule of fight club is to—”
Smack.
“Bloody hell!” Spike clutched his ear, his normal non-William voice clearly showing he was normal again. “Whaddya hafta go and do that for? In the ear, of all soddin’ places?”
Angel sighed, clearly depressed for his friend, and sat back on the ground with his back to the wall. “You were delusional,” he replied, as if that answered everything. Angel didn’t want to say anything further unless Spike probed.
Spike tried to remember what just transpired. He couldn’t. “Oh, fuck, what happened?”
“I guess something snapped and you became William.” Angel shrugged, trying to be aloof and forgetful and totally misplace the craziness of the scene in his head. “You kept saying what a bad person you were and talked about Buffy and used way too many allusions for my taste. I couldn’t even keep track when you got to the religious stuff.”
Spike scratched his head. “Well, I dun remember any of that...”
“Good,” Angel said, hoping that the singular word ended the discussion and Spike wouldn’t have to go on thinking insane thoughts.
“I’m gonna go, Angel,” Spike tilted his head downward, back to what he originally wanted to get at before the mishap. “‘might not be back for a while...”
“...okay,” Angel replied with the only choice Spike gave him. “I’ll see you, Spike.”
“Yeah,” Spike nodded glumly, his words tainted spills of downtrodden. “See you.”
Spike walked a few paces before stopping and turning his head back to Angel. “I’m just...” he choked a little, “I’m just sorry.”
And with that, he strode right down the hallway to the parking lot.
Spike needed some relief, some reprieve, a vacation... he needed relief fast. He took out a cigarette as he was creeping down the hall and dove for his silver Zippo in his jeans pocket. With one swish, it was open. Another quick flick and...
A small spark. Some flimsy smoke. No flame.
Spike stopped and tried the Zippo a few more times.
Nothing. No flame, no smoke, not even a spark.
He looked curiously at the small shiny object in his fingers for a handful of heartbeats, just observing the simplistic significance of it all. He silently stashed the Zippo back in his pocket and discarded the cigarette to the ground before continuing his walk to the parking lot.
Spike had lost his spark.
Thanks for reading. Again, I’m unsure of when I’ll be updating, just depends how motivated I get in the coming days. I know where I’m heading with this behemoth but I just can’t seem to ever get there. Ah well, I’ll find some way out of this rut. Thanks for reading nonetheless. =]