Well, ow. She was shouting, and then there was red white black pain spiderwebbin’ from the center of his hairline. Blinding. Staggering. Moved his hand up to see if he could get any bit of vision back. Ended up on the ground, eyes shut but opening, focusing, bringing it round. Buffy on his chest with her knees in the dust and the dirt. Buffy with her hands pressin’ his wrists down and her hair like a frame for her face. Baby likes to play, he thought. And smiled. And chuckled. And wriggled a little, strained against her fingers. This was supposed to be fun. It’d been a long time since she held him down — he was supposed to say it’d been a long time. Since they’d fought at all. Got some tension to work off, Slayer? Come by after-hours for a scuffle and tumble? Always glad to sort out the kinks. He was supposed to take her arms out, roll her over, and end up the one doin’ all the pinning. Used to be. But as he tried shoving his wrists to the side, he remembered. The tiles peeking out from under the bathmat. Her eyes big and wet and wide. All that force trying to force it. Trying to force her.
Spike didn’t hit Buffy anymore. Not since. Not with his marbles in a row. Spike didn’t trap her and Spike didn’t shove. And he could shift hips all he wanted, but there’s nothin’ cute about the other way around.
So he let her keep him there. That’s how he saw it, anyway — how he wanted to see it, still petty about strength. He didn’t even put up a fight when she made her mouth all close and her eyes small. Thought about kissing her, sure. Make her quiet. Throw her off guard. But he just stayed smiling smug instead. Didn’t think she was gonna take it where she did. Didn’t feel his face go blank when she started in, past the crazy-talk he didn’t get and onto the handle where the knife stook out. It was easiest for her, wasn’t it? No one else knew just how to slide and twist it the way she did, and she did it all the time. Lyin’ there on his back in his crypt — his goddamn crypt she just burst into on a flight of fists and fancy — listenin’ to her spout all the worst of it, Spike thought up a lot of things to say back. Couldn’t say any of ‘em. Had to pay attention, make sure he was hearin’ right.
Liability? Rough talk ‘bout a guy who’d saved the world better than any of them could figure. Been called a lot of things in his time, and whatever happened to Champion? He hadn’t been a liability since the First quit usin’ his head like an old-timey projector. Well, up ‘til Alette. But there’d been time in between. Do you have any idea what it’s like burnin’ to death? Not much different if you’re already dead. And he took it brave, didn’t he? He hid out in Europe while his skin grew back and he didn’t ever whinge. Liabilities got sent to shacks where the walls were lined with crosses. This one, this one took the blade to his chest when he couldn’t stop the screaming. This one sought the screaming out. Won’t go away. Who he’d been. He knew that, knew it now. Could she blame him for seeing a cure-all at first? The only person who cared about Angel’s past was Angel. They all ran ‘round worried what they’d do if he broke out in bumpies, but they didn’t hold him to it. That’d been his model. That’d been his lesson. Having a soul made Angel new again. Spike’s just made him old.
It wasn’t the crying that snapped him back from stunned stupid. It wasn’t the way her breaths stopped halfway, or how she slackened her grip on his arms. Spike wouldn’t have jumped in at all if she hadn’t done the thing that came next; he wouldn’t have known where to start when so much of it was private and weak. But there it was like a papercut that bleeds too much, and there—there was the anger that bubbled up from self-pity.
Why would I use you?
“Wouldn’t be the first time, now, would it?” It was unwarranted, but so were they. He pulled his wrists out from under her hands. Buffy wasn’t looking at him. She always looked away when she cried. Easy enough to push her back — not hard, just enough so he could sit up and gather himself to standing. The change in position and the cluster of light from the candles by the window made his head hurt where she’d thrown hers at him. He touched the back of his hand to his brow. ”Won’t erase the history books,” he said. A repeat. A scoff. ”Think I don’t know that? Look up Spike in the encyclopaedia, still says ‘see William the Bloody.’ No entry for Angel — just for Angelus. And he’s had his chest a-glow for… well, he’s had it a hell of a lot longer than I have. Think I don’t know what that means?”
It was her turn to be wrong, and she didn’t disappoint. He couldn’t swallow anything she’d spit out without choking. ”It’s not supposed to be erased. I’m not trying to erase it. I’m trying to live with it.” He hadn’t raised his voice until now, and even as he talked he kept it even as he could. Buffy was on the ground. Spike was looking at her, looking away, pausing the pacing to point in accusation. ”But you can’t handle thinkin’ maybe for a second, for a second, it wasn’t about you. Case you haven’t noticed, your life’s not the only one took a nosedive over the Atlantic when you turned your head. And I can’t sit ‘round with my wrists strung-up watchin’ the killers on the telly hide the blood in their teeth when I’m one of two who’s any good at all. Least, I ought to be.”
More than he’d wanted to say. That last bit made him quiet, made him introspective and low. He took a few seconds of his own. Ever been in a room where everything’s just got real bad? Those few seconds — maybe less, maybe hardly any time at all — were dead air. Spike pulled a Lucky out of his front-pocket pack and lit it with steady hands. ”So, you see,” he said, cigarette bobbing between loose lips, “I was exactly right. You came over here swingin’ ‘cause I cocked up the plan. Made your colours bleed.” The smoke came out of his nose. ”Hate to break it to you, pet, but you’re not the only thing I think about anymore.”
She didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, when he finally answered her. His words stung, there was the trademark honesty she’d come to expect from him. Her stomach twisted into a knot, she’d used him time and time again. But he’d never held it against her. He wanted to be used by her, he made that clear. But all of that was in the past and she kept forgetting. He wasn’t hers anymore, was he? When he broke out of her hold, she didn’t resist in the slightest. It could hardly be called breaking free. Her eyes followed his form as he stood up and she stayed down. She had expected some sort of attack, she wanted him to hit her so that she could be angry. If she was angry then she couldn’t be crying, but she didn’t have the strength in her to stop and he wasn’t giving it to her.
She just listened it was all she could do. Her heart dropped when he started yelling, she didn’t know how to react anymore. Her head was beginning to kill her more than she was letting on, she didn’t try to touch or soothe the way that Spike had done. The adrenaline she’d been making was all but gone and she was crashing in more ways than one. But the tears had finally stopped. It seemed like he was saying that he was trying to help, that it wasn’t entirely about his ego. No, thinking he was trying to hurt her was a product of her own ego. Or that’s what he was trying to say, trying to make her feel. And then he let her sit in silence with all that she was feeling. He let her suffer.
Finally he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, still he didn’t speak. The air was dead and it was weighing down on her like some sort of boulder, crushing her. She didn’t breathe. The words that did come out reeked of smugness, his presumption that she had any sort of plan would have made her angry any other day. It should have made her angry this time, especially this time. But it didn’t make her angry it just made her sad. Just like everyone else, he thought so much of her. He thought she had it together, expected her to have it together. But nothing was together. Everything was falling apart and what Spike did was only making it worse, it was happening already. Anonymous internet users were telling her of ensouled vampires already.
“I’m aware of that, I never said I wanted or expected to be the only thing you think about.” Her voice still cracked a little though she’d stopped crying minutes ago. "I just thought I was a thing you thought about.“ She finally looked up to him. She had to make him understand and violence wasn’t doing it. Only the truth could make him see, she didn’t think he’d agree. But maybe he would understand why she was so upset, why what he’d done was wrong. Looking him dead in the eye, she took in a deep breath.
"There is no plan, Spike. There hasn’t been a plan.” The words tasted like vinegar coming out of her mouth. She swallowed back the tears that she felt coming on. She wouldn’t cry again. "This is serious, and it’s bigger than you and I. This isn’t some sort of game, I’m at a serious risk here. Every slayer is.“ She took in a breath so she could continue on. "I am not upset because you ruined my non-existent plan. I’m pissed because you just handed those vampires with ‘blood on their teeth’ a whole new set of weapons to use against us. It’s happening already. People are telling me that they know vampires with souls, which you know is complete crap.” She hadn’t noticed herself standing up, but by the end of her little spiel she was on her feet. She was on his level and looking directly into his eyes, which meant he could read her. He could feel her weakness, she knew it. She snapped her head away before he could see it in her eyes, before he could recognize the fear. "I’m scared Spike. I don’t know what to do. Know it all Buffy is at a loss. I’m terrified I’ll end up in jail for what I’ve done.“ The turned head had made it’s way back to Spike’s and she was looking into his eyes for something, she knew she wouldn’t get sympathy. "I can’t do any good from a jail cell, Spike.” She pursed her lips and fought back the tears, but she could feel the wateriness in her eyes.
This Is A Test 