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Author's Chapter Notes:
This part of the story will be told from Spike's perspective. It's the only time this will happen & I think once you'll read it you'll understand why. Be prepared though, this is a dark chapter'. Bad, violent things happen here. But, this is finally rock bottom so things can only go up from here.
"If I were a mocking bird,
would you chain me in view of the endless sky world?
From the window wind reaches,
desperate, through the cage bars, to seize me.
And I'd die in your arms, but not your heart,
if it please you.
Fire flies and so do I.
I fly high to hide in flight.
Why, I delight in blue sky it's almost like dying ...
If I were a mocking bird,
I'd give you feathers, and my very own blood,
and other treasures,
which you keep on your dresser at night,
in corner darkness,
by the candle that you never light,
though it be moonless."
- the Megan Slankard band, "Mockingbird"

* * *

He’d always known that dancing with this Slayer was going to be akin to playing with fire; he was certain to get burned. That’s not to say he didn’t think he’d lose if it ever came down to it. He hadn’t taken down two Slayers before her just too fall before this tiny slip of a girl. No, he’d been sure that he’d be her last dance partner and just as sure that he wouldn’t walk away from her death unscathed. In some respects, he’d been right. In others, painfully wrong.

Loving her had side swiped him.

It had been a gradual thing, surprisingly serene considering the turbulent nature of their relationship. It had been years percolating, settling around him like a fine mist until finally it covered him completely and he had to face it with a jolt. He hadn’t loved her willingly. Not at first, when he was as disgusted with her for bewitching him and himself for falling so hard. It wasn’t until later, when the initial shock faded away that he realized loving her wasn’t the worst thing he could do. Besides that it was a challenge. He’d always thrived on those.

Halfway through his campaign though he’d suddenly remembered what it was like to want to be a man. It was unfortunate that he was as terrible at it now as he’d been the first time around. The impossible had quickly also become insurmountable. Her death had changed all that.

Changed her.

Honed her like a blade so that she shone sharp and deadly in the starlight. She scared the others; they made no secret of that. He watched, the predator in him cultivating patience, as one by one they abandoned her; chased off by her long silences, the stilted responses, the faraway look in her eyes. They scampered like the prey they were back to their bright sunshine lives, unable to stomach the creature they had created.

Fools.

They left him free to love her.

He’d jumped in with both feet, been pleasantly surprised when she took the initiative that first night, had his heart broken when she walked away. It didn’t deter him. She was his girl. His Buffy. His Slayer. He would be whatever she needed him to be, make any sacrifice, if it could alleviate the pain that lurked in her eyes. But for all he loved her, he couldn’t fix what was wrong. Bitterness clung to her skin like an acrid perfume and he knew there was a very good chance that she would destroy them both before it was over.

There were times though when she softened, when she loved him in such a deliciously tender way that he felt happiness as he never had in the last century of living. They were cherished, stolen moments; little more than the flicker of a smile, the sounds of his name from her lips, the touch of her hands against his face. Best of all though was the look she would get in her eyes from time to time, when the coldness leaked from her body the shutters lifted from her eyes and he could see that she loved him.

Didn’t mean much though. She had forgotten long ago what it meant to love in that way, if she had ever had time to learn in the first place. It wasn’t worth holding against her anyhow, not when that secret knowledge was his to keep. He would even keep it from her.

And now, he was paying the price he always knew he’d pay for it someday.

He’d known right away that something was wrong. There had been the same desperate horrible look on her face as the first night she’d come back and she’d vibrated with barely suppressed violence. It had been folly to attract her attention, not worth the trouble of the stupid quip that he’d only half finished before she looked at him and he saw his own death written clearly on the face of the woman he loved. His last thought, before the beating began, was that his death at her hands would at least have an element of poetry to it.

She’d been screaming from the start, spewing vitriol at them both as she descended; actions complementing words as she attacked. His heart broke when the words changed to the incoherent keen of a wounded animal, an endless haunting sound that he never wanted to hear again. Briefly, he’d considered trying to stop her, knowing that killing him would destroy something inside of her, but a roundhouse kick to the throat left him incapable of speech and more than a little grateful that his head had managed to stay attached.

He let her hit him, though he could have stopped it he hadn’t the energy anymore to fight against the force that was her. One by one the punches rained down like nails to break his flesh. At some point he hit the ground and she was on him like the furies, pinning his arms to his side as she continued her assault. He couldn’t stop her now if he wanted too. Dimly, he was aware of the smell of blood and realized it was his.

Doesn’t matter.

And it didn’t. His girl needed him; he only ever lived for his girl.

The pain stopped abruptly and through the fog he was aware of her flinging herself off of him. He could hear her voice now, thick with tears, as she sobbed out her regrets. He managed a gurgle in response, felt her hands on his face and her tears in his mouth.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, Spike. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t do it any more I can’t. Please say you forgive me, please …”

Stupid girl. Didn’t she know that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her? No crime too great for her to be absolved in his eyes? He’d forgiven her before the first blow even fell.

The silence stretched think between them and he let himself drift on the edge of consciousness, sure that she would see him safe before sunrise. He almost missed it when she whispered, “I love you. “

Buffy. My Buffy.





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