Two days of comfortable quiet and endless mugfuls of blood had brought him to a stage of talking without causing him pain. Brought him to a stage of being propped up in bed without cringing every time a limb would flex. Brought him closer to tears at remembering how he had reached this impasse in his unlife.
Buffy.
It always came back to her. He had known the first step he took away from her that he was a fool.
A fool for not belting the Little Bit for opening her mouth and parading all his secrets like she had the right.
A fool for giving in and giving his proclamations a shot at hopeful, despite the looks of dawning horror on Buffy’s face.
A fool for thinking he could get her to admit that it might be possible that he could change, and a bigger fool for not realising that she would never consider herself important enough to be the focus of such a change, the pivotal element for the want of change. But the most foolish thing he had done was walking away from her and untying Dru, allowing himself to be dragged to a social cycle that held nothing of importance for him now.
His final memory of her was her frozen expression of shock as she sat tied with ropes to his chair. Probably disgust had also mingled in reaction to his stolen kiss. It finally began to sink in that she had felt nothing for him but hate.
As his eyes blurred, he thought of all the reasons he had been unable to accept it till now. He had association, familiarity with her like no other vampire had. Well, except for Peaches, and the soul elevated him to a whole different category. No, he wasn’t like the regular Joe vampire she turned to ash on a nightly basis. She had spent time with him, gotten to know him, seen him.
He had believed that the small position he had held in their group might have been enough to humanise him a little in her prospect, make her see him as three dimensional, rather than a one level vampire. He had done enough good to scatter her opinion on evil, soulless monsters and perhaps cut him a little slack. He was sure that proximity often worked to dim the distaste for even the most awful nerd a girl could have in her association didn’t they often become friends in schools these days. The beauty became best buddies with the class freak and he became less the social outcast? Known less for his bookish ways and liked more for being friends with the glory girl?
Well, it hadn’t worked with him! Association had meant nothing except convenient muscle when the uglies got too close. She could trust him with the welfare of her family, but not her bloody heart. Oh no! Not the precious Slayer, couldn’t let that shrivelled handful of tissue ever heal from the pounding brought upon it by the brooding, ensouled one. That bitch…he can change but she can’t? How fucking typical…just like her to….
He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, flinching from the pain of his ribs expanding on his heaving breaths, the fuel to keep the savagery of his loss going full steam. No matter how he tried to blame her, he couldn’t. He was the one in the wrong an abomination. Who was he trying to kid that he could change? None of Angel’s gloomy brooding silences could convince him that he had achieved anything in all his efforts.
He had fed, hadn’t he? He’d caused those people to be dead. He’d sunk his fangs into their throat and sucked out their leftover humanity. Buffy would hate him forever now, whether he still had the chip or not. She would only see that he had drunk human heat, letting smooth life glide down his throat and coat his stomach. That it made him feel worse than he ever had wouldn’t matter to Miss There Is Only Good And Evil In The World And You Spike Are Evil With A Capital E. Nothing he had ever done had mattered. Not to Cecily, not to Dru or Angelus, and certainly not to the more judgmental Scoobies.
Carefully resuming his reclining position he craved rest, or rather oblivion. He wanted to be gone from this world where everything hurt, where he was never allowed to have anything his heart yearned and cried for. Where he was to be played for a fool every time he opened his eyes.
The tears continued to fall from his open and glassy haunted blue eyes as he told himself that whether he did the right thing or not, he had no purpose in this world. He had nothing to lever himself against this mortal point, and he wished for the first time since he had realised he was different that he was finished trying, finished struggling. He felt tormented resignation that Angel had saved him. He might have died hanging from that ceiling, he’d heard of vampire’s dying from starvation, but he couldn’t see where he belonged anywhere else. That beaten hungry existence was retribution for all he had been, a failure, a major fucking disgrace to both vampire and human.
He wished Angel had just let him hang.
Angel felt embarrassed at the comfort he clung to from having Spike under his roof. They had barely exchanged words, let alone had a conversation about what was going on with the blonde. But he could tell. The pain and humiliation was obvious, as was the torment and the eventual resignation.
Angel could see that Spike had accepted death, final rest. He could see that Spike craved it. Spike. The one who sought out Slayers to have a worthy battle and kill. Spike. The one who could look after a murderous and insane vampiress merely because of devotion and love. Spike. The one who existed merely to be a pain in his ass. Spike. Who now wanted to be rid of the world for good.
Angel felt his throat clog with useless grief. He had dusted Darla once to save Buffy, and had tried to set his sire and childe alight because of fear, shame and a loss of his own way. Having Spike here with him now had helped him, hearing the stories from Lindsey and on the streets of a dishonourable vampire of the Aurelian line who was not souled shamed him into courage. He felt useless as to how to help Spike find meaning in his existence, mainly because he was only just recapturing it himself. But he felt a sadness that Spike wanted to be gone from his ties, and the only tie he had now was to Angel.
The rejection stung.
He couldn’t help but feel sorry for Darla and Dru, knowing that they must have experienced the same from both the males of the family.
For two days, Angel had repressed any thoughts on the origin to Spike’s misery. He refused to delve into why his childe, always so full of verve and excitement, was so destroyed that he wanted to retire to dust and damnation.
But it hadn’t lasted, and he was brought back to the phone call from Xander Harris that had mingled with his own feelings of inadequacy and rejection. That one of the two Scooby men the two least supporting of a demon in their midst wanted Spike back within their fold had been a little hard to accept.
It was a sharp slap in the face.
That he had detected an element of favour for his Grandchilde in Harris’s voice at the time had disgusted him, but then later he had grieved for the fact that none of them had ever spoken for him in such a craving, protective manner. No, instead they did it for Spike. They needed him, they wanted him and so went to lengths to have him returned.
He had denied himself a call to Buffy, not prepared to hear that tone of yearning in her voice that he was so sure would be there. He could deny it to himself no longer. Spike didn’t have to open his mouth for him to recognise the signs. Such complete emotional devastation could only be caused in their order by one woman. That she hadn’t called, and Harris had, was telling enough as it was.
Standing outside the door to Spike’s room, he could feel a tear glide down his cheek as he listened to the blonde vamp sob his heart out. It killed him to acknowledge that Buffy had gotten close enough to his childer to affect such a reversal of character, but for once he knew where his loyalties lay, and that was with Spike. He couldn’t let Spike down, even if it meant forcing Buffy into the picture. Spike was changing he could feel it within his psyche, within his blood, and he knew that that was why Drusilla had punished him so fiercely. Just like she had done to Angel while he had a soul. She refused to allow their loss, but instead forced them away.
Spike had run from Sunnydale, and Harris’s silence on the reason why seemed confirmation to him. It could only be Buffy. Finding himself back at the front desk, he picked up the phone and dialed the Summers’s house. The ringing tone continued on until it cut out and, with a concerned look at the time, he replaced the receiver in the stand. It was close to morning and no one was home. Dread had no time to fully whip up action before there was a flurry of activity at his front door. He braced himself for attack, slumping only when Giles and Joyce stepped gingerly through, followed by the whole Scooby contingent as well as some faces new. They all stopped suddenly when faced with his confused figure.
When he caught sight of Buffy he breathed in agonised relief. He forgot to feel amazed at her presence, overcome by her beauty, or drugged by her proximity. He felt nothing but hope that he could give Spike something to hold onto, and in the first real facial expression besides melancholy the group had ever witnessed on him, he sighed in almost euphoric pleasure.
She had come.
Embracing her enthusiastically, he took a second to wonder why they were here, then another to acknowledge his lack of hurt that she wasn’t here for him, before pulling back and making a second action out of character. He grabbed Xander’s hand and pumped it in an enthusiastic handshake before directing them all to take a seat.
Reluctantly they sat, watching him apprehensively and, almost as one, decided to leave the speaking to Buffy.
“Um, Hi…” she mumbled nervously, cowering. “Probably should have said that earlier. Ah, you’ll never guess why we ended up on your doorstep like this…”
“Buffy…” Angel interrupted. He watched her carefully. “Look, I found Spike, and he’s a bit of a mess.”
She shot to her feet, agitated.
“What kind of a mess?” She wrung her hands together, rubbing and squeezing in mounting fear.
Angel no longer felt the cause of Spike’s anguish to be ambiguous.
Buffy.
It was always about Buffy.
But what he witnessed in her actions gave him hope for his childe. She wanted to help, and he could see that she reeked of fear for Spike’s welfare and condition. He bowed his head in sudden resigned sadness before resolving to get over it, to let it go. He had to give William hope.
“When I found him…” He looked at the women of the group and just in time caught himself from relaying the gore of the scene he had encountered.
Surprisingly it was Joyce who refused to let him cover the truth.
“We want to know exactly what is going on with Spike. Don’t hold back,” she instructed, and his guilt that never lessened in the face of this woman had him lowering his eyes but nodding in supplication to her wishes.
“Darla and Dru had been torturing him. They had him chained in an apartment, were starving him, though I think he might have been doing that to himself before they chose to hurt him. At least that’s what Lindsey told me. Anyway, they poured holy water on him, cut him, stabbed him, pretty much mutilated every bit of skin on his body.” He shared a meaningful glance with Giles and Harris and they shared the cringe of solid male understanding.
Looking back at Buffy he felt nothing but satisfaction at the tears that streamed down her cheeks. A little of the demon resentment surged within him and he felt eager to plant the boot in, protecting and seeking vengeance for his closest male relative.
He stared straight at Buffy and took evil satisfaction at her flinch.
“Do you happen to know why he was back with them? He won’t tell me much, but I can tell you that whatever it was it destroyed him before he ever got to LA. They punished him because he refused to be like them. He refused to feed from humans and it got him tortured. They wanted him to hurt and he didn’t care if he died.” Angel’s voice cracked with unsteady and unusual emotion. “He still doesn’t care if he dies.”
Buffy gasped, the tears gaining momentum until her face was thoroughly wet and red.
One look and she knew that Angel had guessed that it was because of her that Spike had left Sunnydale and allied himself with his family. That it was because of her that Spike was giving up on himself.
His expression hardened as he faced her.
“Whatever the hell you did you will fix it. If he dusts himself because of your narrow-minded view of what vampires are capable of, I’ll…”
“We get the idea, Angel.” Giles had taken to his feet at the threatening stance of the souled vampire, his own guilt and shame causing horrifying images of a bloodied Spike chained and beaten to insanity.
“Perhaps you could take Buffy to see him. I take it you have him here where you can easily care for him?”
“Of course. There was nowhere else for him to go.”
The group shared a look weighed heavily with guilt and remorse.
“I’ll take you, Buffy. But if you do anything to hurt him or make him feel less important than he already does, then you will all have to leave. I don’t care why you have come here. He is my priority right now.”
Buffy nodded her head, agreement to his terms shining in her eyes. Her heart thumped painfully, recognising her position of power and still, lacking. He had talked of priorities and she had so many of those right now, all lined up on sofas around her.
But her heart ached to feel Spike against her, to give to him the crumbs he had begged metaphorically from her. She craved the touch of his hands, and suddenly she burned from the memory of his lips, gently caressing hers in the sweetest love. A love he had braved despite knowing of her attitude toward him, and ultimately her rejection of him. A love she truly didn’t deserve but strangely felt she wanted.
A love her friends suddenly didn’t seem to mind if it brought Spike back home with them and culled off the bad demon population. Amazingly his selfless action of patrolling on his own and ridding the Hellmouth of a great deal of demon activity had allowed the Scoobies the proof they needed to accept Spike as one of their own, and Buffy’s gratitude was enormous. It made her emerging feelings for the vampire something she no longer needed to convince herself of as being neither disgusting or inappropriate.
She was thrown.
Angel seemed to suspect the origins of this whole mess. Without words he had conveyed his displeasure that she had managed to break a Master Vampire without even lifting a finger. Of course her hands had been tied behind her back at the time or that might have factored into the argument as well. In some kind of confusion, she recognised that his affection for her seemed to have waned at a similar rate to that of hers for him, and she wondered what elements exactly were in control here.
Everything had changed right out from underneath her and she felt disorientated. If she didn’t know better she would suspect that a spell had been cast on her emotions and thoughts, causing her to fall out of love with one vampire and in love with another. In love with one without a soul, and as much as she wished it didn’t, that fact still seemed to be a bit of a stumbling block.
She pushed all inner musings away however, determined that there would be nothing negative shading the meeting that was about to occur. She took desperate, calming breaths as she walked along the corridor, Angel finally stopping outside a door. With a sharp realisation Buffy knew she wasn’t ready. Angel paused, hand hovering over the door handle, and listened. With a paternal smile that left her motionless in surprise, he silently indicated that Spike was asleep.
With a gentle twist of the knob, the door swung inward and all the heat of eagerness left Buffy’s cheeks in a rush. Curled painfully on his side, Spike’s naked shoulders peeked out from above the sheet that covered the rest of his body, but the colour shocked her. A furious red of burnt and blistered skin interspersed with great ink splatters of bruising, even inching up his neck and into his hairline. She gagged in revulsion. His face was swollen, bruises blackening his complexion into ugliness, lips blistered and weeping, as well as his eyes, she acknowledged at last. His face was wet with tears that he had obviously shed until his recent escape into slumberland.
It was because of her. Because she hadn’t wanted to believe or accept that he was different. So he left and was punished because he was.
She felt so ashamed.
Falling to her knees in a silent prayer of forgiveness, she buried her own wet face in her hands and surrendered to her guilt and grief.
She never even noticed Angel walking back out and closing the door softly behind him.
A/N...my many, many thanks to all the wonderful readers that reviewed the last chapter and reassured me that this story was definitely going well. I am so appreciative. Feeling rather nervous about it all. This chapter was difficult to go over, not sure why exactly, but I hope you like it all the same.