This could go one of two ways, and she could see them both very clearly. His fingers dug into her bathrobe and into her skin; a slice a fear swept through her. She could fight back, tell him where to shove his overly aggressive “love”, or she could give him a jolt of reality, remind him what was at stake, and put a collar on her inner-bitch.
He was out of his mind right now, acting on pure instinct, emotion, and his demon was eating it up. This could get bad, very out of control, and no matter how she felt about him, she would never be able to forgive him if it came to that.
She bit her lip, and shoved him hard with both hands in the chest sending him flying back into the door with a “THUD!”
“This is not the way to make me feel it.” She spoke, praying her words didn’t resonate with the quakes that were coursing through her body. “What do you think is going to happen if you try to force me to admit that I have feelings for you? Is that really what you want? Empty words? That’s what they would be Spike, so GET A GRIP!”
She watched his fingers curl and dig into his palms, and blood dripped onto the tile floor.
“I’m not going to let you give up on me Spike.” She looked pointedly at him. “This little act of desperation isn’t going to help whatever relationship we have left, and if you try, what I think you were planning on, then you’ve given up.”
He sagged against the door his anger deflating until he was left with only a dull ache in the pit of his stomach.
“Bloody hell…Buffy…” The words wouldn’t come, they stuck in his throat. He stared at her horrified. He’d almost…God he would’ve done it too if she hadn’t stopped him. This couldn’t be love, you don’t hurt the ones you love.
He turned, threw open the door, and ran out of the room; a few seconds later the front door slammed, and he was gone.
She sank to the floor clutching her bathrobe around her. She let herself shake now, but she didn’t cry. It wasn’t what he might have done in his anger that terrified her, it was what had pushed him to the edge of his sanity, what had pushed him to think that it was his only option.
It had been her, all her fault.
***
And you
Can bring me to my knees
Again
All the times
That I could beg you please
In vain
All the times
That I felt insecure
For you
And I leave
My burdens at the
But I'm on the outside
I'm looking in
I can see through you
See your true colors
'Cause inside you're ugly
You're ugly like me
I can see through you
See to the real you
“I see you bloody hell bitch,” Spike spat pouring alcohol into his glass of blood and chugging it.
All the times
That I felt like this won't end
It's for you
And I taste
What I could never have
It was from you
All the times
That I've cried
My intentions
Full of pride
But I waste
More time than anyone
He stared at the stereo; sodding creepy it was. He narrowed his eyes.
“Bleedin’ mainstream trash,” he mumbled, refilling his glass. “Ohh, love’s a bitch, don’t hurt me, I’m sorry, blah, blah…” He stumbled over to his chair and sank down, leaning one elbow on the arm of the chair holding his glass.
All the times
That I've cried
All this wasted
It's all inside
And I feel
All this pain
Stuffed it down
It's back again
And I lie
Here in bed
All alone
I can't mend
But I feel
Tomorrow will be OK
He let out a growl and chucked his half-full glass at the stereo, and it shattered. The stereo made a queer sound and stopped, then began playing again the CD skipping.
“I leave…for you…I leave…for you…I leave…for you…I leave…for you…”
***
She had her bathrobe on under her jacket, and her sneakers and that was it. After he had slammed out, and she had calmed down she had gotten an odd feeling of foreboding. She had the feeling; no she just knew she had to get to him. Like…if she didn’t go to him now, she may never get the chance again.
She ran through the cemetery the grass whipping around her ankles. Worry turned into panic and she picked up her pace. She reached his crypt, her chest rising and falling as she took deep breaths.
*You are just being paranoid*
She pushed opened the door and stepped in. Candles were lit, and the radio was playing…sort of. It was stuck, and was skipping.
“I leave…for you…I leave…for you…”
She paled. The crypt was silent beyond that.
“Spike?” She called out, and there was a desperate whine to her voice that indicated how nervous she was.
No answer.
She moved slowly forward, stepping over the broken glass she hit stop on the CD player. It was silent. If crickets would dare enter the sanctuary of Spike’s crypt they would be chirping right now. No one was here, he was gone.
She sank to her knees and put her head in her hands. She didn’t cry, she didn’t think she had any tears left. Why did it always come to this? Her pushing him, and him leaving.
Although, technically, he hadn’t left her before, that had only been a dream.
*I guess some things do come true*
Minutes passed, and she ignored the aching in her knees as they pressed down against the cold cement. She didn’t hear the door to the crypt creak or his heavy footfalls as he strode up behind her.
“Slayer?”
She jumped, and whipped around. He was standing behind her one eyebrow raised holding a paper bag full of what she could only assume were groceries.
“You’re here,” she whispered in disbelief.
“Um...yeah, my crypt last time I checked.”
She jumped to her feet and stomped on her urge to beat him into a pulp. Instead she pitched herself at him, and he dropped the paper bag. She threw her arms around his neck, and buried her head in his chest. He didn’t hold her; he stood still, his entire body stiff.
“You didn’t leave me…” she breathed into his shirt.
He was silent, and stared down at the top of her head.
She finally noticed he wasn’t returned her hug, and stepped away. He was avoiding her eyes, and kept shifting anxiously from one foot to another.
“I…” she cleared her throat. “I just thought…after…”
“That’d I’d pull a poofter and take off? Not my style luv.”
She smiled tentatively at him. “No, definitely not a poofter.”
He considered her words for a moment and cracked a grin. “Waddya trying to say pet? That’s I’m better than the ponce?”
She shrugged, and looked away before he could see the laughter in her eyes.
“Listen, can we…can we just pretend that thing in the bathroom never happened? Can we just…start over?”
The words lit the spark of hope that had begun to fade within his chest. “Start over?”
“I mean, we’ve both, done a lot of terrible things to each other, said things…that we didn’t mean.”
“No, I bloody well did mean them,” he snorted.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine then, I said and did a lot of things that I didn’t mean. With all we’ve…been through, fighting isn’t going to solve anything. I’m willing to call a truce.”
It wasn’t Byron, hell it wasn’t even good Wordsworth which there was very little of, but it would do for now.
A/N:Song lyrics from "Outside" by Staind.
Krispie Kream glazed donuts...mmmmm...
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to my very pessimistic, and negative expert on poetry. :P