When Spike signed up for the Halloween committee, it was a week before the dance. That week seemed to fly by unnaturally quickly after that. Anya had been right about the committee; as long as he sat there and occasionally offered sarcastic commentary, they didn’t give a flyin’ damn about how much work he actually did. And much to his delight, his mum bought his excuse.
So the week was goin’ smoothly, all things considered. He was having a little trouble finding all the stuff he needed for his costume, but he was pretty sure he’d be able to find it all before the dance. It was a wonder how convincing you could be ‘f you slammed someone against the wall and demanded that they do what you say.
Now it was two days before the dance, and he and Buffy were walking around Sunnydale, doing what was in Spike’s opinion both the most wonderful and the ponciest thing on the planet: holding hands.
“I mean, it’s not that I don’t like vanilla,” Buffy was explaining. “It’s very comforting, sometimes. But there are lots of other ways to get your fix that are way more exiting, you know?”
“Wait. Thought we were discussing ice cream, pet.” He watched her blink, clearly confused.
“We are,” she said. “What else would I be talking ab—ooooh.” Now she blushed, licking her lips nervously. “I get it.”
Spike chucked, but decided not to put her on the hot spot for too long. He’d been horny as hell the past few days, and her bein’ all little and cute and mad made him even hornier, so teasing her wasn’t exactly the smartest thing in the world. “Right, then. I know your favorite ice cream flavor. Next question.”
“Um...” she frowned. “How’d you get the name Spike?”
He smirked. Well, he couldn’t help it. “What, you don’t think it’s m’ real name?”
“Mr. Giles calls you William.”
He could feel his smirk fade when he realized that he’d have to tell her the truth. “Old girlfriend thought ‘f it,” he said shortly. “When I was reinventin’ m’self.”
“Reinventing?” Buffy said curiously, completely unaware that to Spike, discussing this particular topic was like dripping lemon juice in a gaping wound. “Reinventing how?”
She wriggled her hand, and he realized that he was squeezing it far harder than was strictly necessary. He dropped it like a hot iron. “Look, before high school, I was...” he sighed. “I was different, a’right?”
“Different?”
Shrinks had tried to pry all this shit out of him before and they’d all failed. How the bleeding hell could this one girl make him spill his whole life’s story with just one question?
Oh, right. He was head over bleeding heels in love with her.
“I went by William,” he began to explain.
“And that’s so bad?” Buffy interrupted.
He almost glared at her. Not quite, but almost. “’s a nancy-boy name,” he grumbled. Oh, damn. Now he sounded like a pouty child.
“I like it,” she announced, cuddling closer. “It’s all sweet and old-fashioned. Manly.” Just when he was starting to think he’d steered her away from the topic, she gave him that cute little scowl of hers and said, “And you’re not going to distract me. Tell me about the girl who gave you the name.”
Damn that chit and her pigheadedness...oh, who the hell was he trying to kid? He loved it.
What he didn’t love, though, was this whole “life story” game. Vanilla ice cream was all well and good, but reliving past trauma? Not exactly his cup of tea—except that he didn’t drink tea, but—“Bloody hell,” he said out loud, raking a hand through his hair. “Can we sit down, pet?”
“Wow.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “That bad, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.” He spotted a bench and practically ran over to it. She followed quickly, sitting down next to him and fastening her eyes on his face.
When they were both sitting he took a deep breath and said, “Listen. What I’m about to tell you...’ve told others some of it, what they needed to know. But you—I think it’s only fair that you know the whole story.”
She nodded. “And I have to make with the silence afterwards?”
“Yeah.” he nodded emphatically, grateful that she understood.
“Okay.” She snuggled closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. The late afternoon sun turned her hair into a halo. “Story time.”
The fact that she was cracking jokes didn’t piss him off the pay it would’ve if it had been the whelp. Instead, it made him feel a bit happier, a bit more ready to deal with his not-so-wonderful past.
“Right. Once upon a time, there was a sorry little 13-year-old git who went by the name of William Walsh.” He paused, remembering.
”He’s turning into a complete rainbow!”
William stood in his doorway and watched his father argue with his mom. It was a fairly regular occurrence.
“Riley! You will not use that sort of language in my household!”
“Your household? I’m your Goddamn husband!”
“Well, you’re acting like a child!”
“So, that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You think I’m too young for you!”
“Riley! Your diversionary tactics are not going to be successful! I am attempting to discuss your near-verbal abuse of William, and I am going to!”
“Maggie, he’s got a British accent, he dresses in tweed, for crying out loud, and he writes poetry! Bad poetry! He’s a complete faggot!”
“Riley! Your close-mindedness—“
“Don’t even start! If you can’t fix the kid, I will.” Riley whirled around. “Will!” He barked. “Get your sorry ass in here!”
He edged in timidly. “Yeah, Da?”
Riley’s hand crashed across his face. “Drop the accent and start acting like a real man,” his father ordered. “And stop whining! I should just beat your ass, like my father did.”
Will was lying on the floor long after his father left.
~*~
“Uh, Spike?”
He snapped out of his trance. “Yeah?”
“You done with the staring?” she asked, waving a hand in front of his face for demonstration. “I mean—“
“No, ‘s fine,” he reassured her. “Just some damn bad memories, is all.”
She kissed his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“’s not your fault,” he assured her. “To tell the truth, havin’ you here makes it that much easier.”
“So...”
He took the prompt. “M’ parents are right arseholes,” he said, “But you know that. M’ dad used to beat on me a bit...never serious stuff, just whacks every now an’ then,” he hastened to assure her when she gasped. “He thought I was a poofter like Peaches.” That brought a grin from her. “So I decided to fix it...make m’self tough so that he’d be scared to swat me ‘round.”
”William...is that what they call you?”
He stared nervously at the girl next to him. At the time, exploring the bad side of town had seemed like a good idea. Now, though, it made him sick. Why he ever chose to listen to Faith when she told him that a night out in Sunnydale would be fun...”Uh, yes. I mean, that is my name,” he stuttered.
“Such a pretty face you have,” Drusilla murmured, tracing a sharp fingernail across his cheekbones. “So sharp...like nails, but softer. Like—“ she stopped, and her eyes grew wide, as though she’d just made a great discovery. When she stared up at him again, a sly smile was on her face. “Like a spike.”
“A—a spike?” he stuttered. “My face is like a spike?”
She nodded solemnly. “It has power. I can see it, all around you. Can you see it?”
“Sorry, but no,” William said honestly.
“But it is there...all around...my Spike. Such power,” she breathed.
He scooted away from her. “I—my name isn’t Spike,” he stuttered frantically. “It’s William.”
She shook a scolding finger. “Naughty Spike, not believing what Mummy tells him,” she purred, scooting closer, stroking his cheekbones. “He shall have to be punished.”
“Uh—not so close, please. In fact, I’d prefer if you—“
Something at the far end of the room caught his eye: it was Buffy, laughing and joking with that ponce Angel. It was the first time he’d seen her since his little anti-poofter stunt at Cordy’s pool party; and just like then, she glowed.
But her glow—her beautiful smile, her happy face—wasn’t directed towards him. It would never be directed towards him. That fact, one that had haunted him after the pool party, was reinforced just then. And it hurt.
He turned back to Drusilla, forcing himself to—smile? Not exactly. The smirk that Faith had taught him was firmly in place. “What’re you gonna do to me, baby?” he purred, sidling closer to her, putting his arm across her shoulder, and thanking God that Faith had made him wear jeans and a t-shirt instead of a tweed suit.
Drusilla seemed to know that she’d won him over; her smile became pure lust. “Such awful, awful things,” she purred, stroking his cheekbones. “My Spike.”
Smiling, he lowered his head and kissed her. After that, it was nothing but hands and lip and tongue...and William was lost forever.
~*~
“Spike? Hello, anyone there? Spike!”
He blinked; Buffy was snapping her fingers in front of his face.
His eyes locked with hers. “It was you,” he said quietly.
“Huh?”
She was cute when she was confused...he shook his head. “I was at a club, here in Sunnydale...you were there, too, guess you were visitin’. Faith hooked me up with this bint I‘d never met b’fore, said that we were both English so we already had a lot in common. At first I didn’t like her, thought her right loony, but then...then I saw you.”
“What—what’d I do?” Buffy asked guiltily.
“Nothin’,” he answered simply. “You were just standing there, flirtin’ with Peaches. But right then, I knew you’d never be mine. So I turned to Drusilla.”
She reached out and touched his face; but unlike Drusilla, she just cupped his cheek. “And the name?”
He gave her a wry smile. “Dru was a nut case,” he said. “She thought m’ cheekbones were spiky.”
“Wow. Not so much. Yummy, yeah,” she added with a smile, “But they’re spike-free.”
“Yeah.” He smiled wistfully. Dru had been insane, but he still missed her—which probably made him off his bird, too.
”Crying about your crazy chick?” his dad said sarcastically from his room.
He didn’t even bother to look up. “Shove off, Da,” he said, longing for the bottle of Jack he’d hidden under his bed when he heard his father’s footsteps.
“You’re not to use that language with me, Will,” Riley said coldly.
Spike heaved a sigh. “Right, then.” He leapt to his feet and walked toward his dad. Though he was rather a lot shorter than the military officer, his anger and grief made him more intimidating.
He looked his father straight in the eye and said, in a clear American accent, “Fuck off, Dad.”
And then he pushed his father out the door and slammed it in his face.
He turned the lock before Riley could muscle his way in; his Da might be less intimidating than he was, but the man had muscle.
When the door was safely locked, he slumped back down on the bed and picked up the bottle of Jack. Drusilla, baby, he thought as he drank. Why’d you leave me? What’s Peaches got that I haven’t? First Buffy, then Drusilla…he was love’s sodding bitch, and worse, that bastard Angel always got what he wanted.
So he drank himself into oblivion, into sweet, merciful darkness. That was one thing that Dru had taught him before she turned her eyes on Angel. The light hurt—it burned you, consumed you. But the darkness was kind, and gentle. When darkness took you over, all you felt was peace.
~*~
“So…what happened?”
Spike once again snapped out of his trance. “Oh, you know, the usual. Dru got frisky with Angel, and I became an even more pathetic sod than I already am.” He’d told her she deserved to know the whole story, but there were some things that he was never gonna tell anybody.
“Oh.” For a moment she was silent; then she said, “Is that when the Jack came in?”
God, she could read him like a book. “Yeah. Drinkin’, smokin’…I tried everything to make me forget her.”
“Did you?”
He focused on her face. She was quiet, her eyes downcast, almost like—
Like she was shy. Unsure.
He gently tilted her head up, smiling into her eyes. “Buffy, luv, what happened then…it was over. I’ve been over Dru for a long time—and what I feel for you, what I felt for you even then, is far greater than anything I ever felt for her.”
Tears came into her eyes. For a moment Spike was confused—what the bloody hell was she cryin’ for?—but then she leaned forward and kissed him, right there on the park bench.
They clung together, both drawing solace from the other. A few moments passed as lips melded—Spike clutched her face, and she wrapped her hands around his neck. It was a close kiss, an intimate one, but more loving than passionate.
When they separated, Buffy reached down and gently squeezed his hand. “Thanks for trusting me,” she whispered, smiling.
He smiled back. “You’re m’ girl,” he said honestly. “’d trust you with m’ life.”
“And your heart? Do you trust me with that?”
God, this conversation was getting’ maudlin, wasn’t it? But Spike could tell it was a serious question. “Yeah, kitten.” He kissed her hand and then stood up, drawing her with him. “I really do.”
~*~
A/N: I know the story behind Spike's name is a bit odd, but I was bored and since Dru's insane, I figured I could have any reason I wanted =D And I didn't say this before when I should have: thanks a million times to Mac and spufette for the wonderful reassurance about my mom and her disapproval for this site--it meant a ton to me, guys. *hugs* so thanks! And thanks also to the people who reviewed the last chapter--reviews are one of the reasons I post (though not one of the reasons I write), so getting them is wonderful!
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