DISCLAIMER: Buffy not mine. Buffy is Joss's, Fox's, and the WB's. Bono and the
Boys, including He of the Snot, are :)
MAJOR BIG ASS THANKS: Rebecca, cause she just kicks ass (even though she is
shmaltzy sometimes!) and helped me get rid of my writer's block. And for
suggesting a lot of the sentences in this piece cause I was totally out of it.
Uh oh! My bagel isn't toasted! Cuperman, help!!! Watch out for the naked
potato!
And to everyone who sent me feedback; I tried to reply to as many as I could.
:)
THANKS: Joss (though I still curse him) for making the incredible character of
Spike. And Bono, for writing such touching songs.
Also, no offense to anyone who lives in Utah...I've been there before and I
really liked it.
_________________
We crossed the line
Who pushed who over
It doesn't matter to you
It matters to me
I disappeared in you
You disappeared from me
I gave you everything you ever wanted
It wasn't what you wanted
The men who love you, you hate the most
They pass right through you like a ghost
They look for you but your spirit is in the air
Baby, you're nowhere
Oh...love...you say in love there are no rules
Oh...love...sweetheart...
You're so cruel
Oh...love...to stay with you I'd be a fool
Sweetheart...you're so cruel
-U2, "So Cruel"
The Slayer's face is turned slightly towards me, giving me a partial view of her profile. She looks almost calm and peaceful in her slumber, far from the look of constant tension and alertness she always has while awake. I'm still suprised that she fell asleep, let down her guard, right next to me.
Is it trust? I don't know. Maybe she just feels I won't pull anything naughty in front of all the people on the plane. Maybe she's just so damn tired she couldn't stay awake no matter how much she doesn't trust me. But whatever it is, I am glad she's asleep. I'm not in the mood for much conversation.
Outside the airplane's window, the extreme darkness is punctuated only rarely by a few tiny, twinkling lights. I feel like God looking down on the universe...after all, when else are the stars *below* you?
She shifts in her sleep and murmurs something, eyebrows drawn together in pain. A small whimper escapes her mouth and I stroke her hair. "Shh, pet, it's alright," I whisper.
And then I realize what I am doing and pull my hand away. I really wasn't trying to comfort her, anyway. It was just that...she might wake some of the other people sleeping on this red-eye flight.
Yeah, that's it.
I go back to staring out the window. We must be over nowhere...Utah or one of those other states no one quite cares about. For a moment it feels like *I* am nowhere; but I know that I am standing between two paths. On one lies a possible friendship, and a definite loneliness. On the other lies need, angst, pain, and having to answer to Miss Edith the rest of my life.
The choice is clear, right?
Not bloody likely. Because on that side there's also love. On that side are her kisses, the scrape of her fingernails down my back...the whisper of her voice in my ear; the way her eyes stare right into me. Into my soul, if I had one.
On that side is Drusilla.
"Dru," I whisper, closing my eyes and picturing her. Picturing us, through the years. Her reaction the first time I dyed my hair. Oh how it shines, Spike! Like a sunbeam...a lonely sunbeam in the dark night! Our fiftieth anniversary, dancing atop the Eiffel Tower, together looking over the lights of Paris. The ruckus we caused during World War II, Dru dressing as a boy and trying to enlist in the army. What a disaster that was. I shake my head at the memory. I had come home from a quick feed to find a note that she had left saying she was going to become 'Private Dru.' That's when I realized I had to keep her impressionable mind away from propaganda.
Not like it bloody mattered, I think, remembering the quite large bill from the Home Shopping Network on my credit card. What the hell is a vampire going to do with a crock-pot?
I smile despite myself. That was the Dru I know and love. And then the smile disappears. Just like my Dru disappeared, leaving behind only the shell of the woman I loved. *Love*, Spike! You still love her, I think to myself. And I know that she loved me. Until Angelus came back.
That's when she stopped looking at me like I was the only one who mattered. When she started treating me like a visiting relative who would be leaving shortly. But it wasn't always like that. She needed me. She didn't always use me the way I know Buffy thinks she did. We needed each other. If I only had one wish in this world, it would be to have her back the way she was. That's what Buffy doesn't understand. Buffy doesn't know what it felt like to feel her arms around my neck, to feel her lips against mine, sweet and hungry.
I've had more than a hundred years to know her, to learn who she is. And I have loved her. A love so deep it hurt, so strong that I never fully admitted it even to myself because I didn't want to be weak. I sometimes thought it stronger than the demon inside me. But I'm one bad ass vampire, I can't be running around like a love sick schoolboy.
It was real then. Now, it's...it's not. A part of her belongs to Angelus. How can I love her with every part of me if she doesn't love me with every part of herself? It's not real now. It hasn't been since Angelus' return.
So do I continue this charade, this mockery of a relationship? Do I continue to be belittled and abused, a cheap substitute for what she thinks is her true love?
As much as I want to say yes, as much as I want to hold on to what I used to be, I also want to say no. There's a part of me that wants to walk away forever and find someone who can love me for who I am, someone who loves me with the same intensity with which I love her. I need to find someone who loves me in a way that fills them up with me, and *only* me. That's the way I love, and I know I can never be happy with someone that only puts half their heart into it.
I need someone who will let themselves fall in love...completely and truly fall.
The Slayer stirs and her airplane blanket falls off her, pooling on the floor. She whimpers and wraps her arms around her for warmth. So tough, so strong when she's awake; it is strange to see her now. She's almost a completely different person. I reach over and retrieve the fallen blanket, tucking it around her.
"There ya go, pet," I whisper automatically before I realize just how tender my voice sounds. What the hell am I doing? Gruffly, I stand up and head to those tiny closets that they try to pass off as bathrooms on these planes. The flight attendent gives me a small, polite smile.
I pull the door to the 'lavatory' as they like to refer to it closed and lean my head on the flimsy-feeling plastic.
"What is wrong with you, Spike?" I ask myself out loud. How can I possibly think of leaving Dru? Leaving her for the Sl-
I cut that thought off as quick as I can. The Slayer was right about Dru, and that's all there is to it. Once Angel comes back I'll never have to see either of them again. So the question is, can I do it? Can I leave Dru and head out into a new life?
But what if Dru returns to her normal self once she realizes that Angelus is gone?
She wouldn't do that. She has committed herself to Angelus. He is in Hell and she still pines for him; she is willing to risk a spell for him. We all know what happened the last time she was involved with a spell. My legs still ache from the memory.
I don't want to make a choice! I don't want this responsibility! What did I ever do to deserve this? Sure, I've killed. I've maimed, tortured, frightened, hurt, tormented, destroyed. But I'm still a nice guy, sometimes. Maybe once we get off this plane I'll walk out into the day and see the sun again, for one last time. Feel its warmth the instant before it sets me on fire...then Dru might realize just what she is losing.
But I can't do it. What a dull place this world would be without me in it. I like myself too much. I enjoy life too much. Although right now, it is certainly having its down side.
The ground beneath me lurches, and my head smacks against the door. The rocking continues, and I am jerked from side to side, my body slamming against the walls in this tiny space.
"Bloody turbulence," I curse and reach for the door knob. I stagger my way back to my seat and sit, feeling the tremors fade.
The Slayer somehow manages to sleep through it. So do most of the other people on the plane. Guess they're not used to being awake at four in the morning. The flight attendant comes over to me, a giant and animated Barbie doll.
"Would you care for anything, sir?"
I toy with the idea of saying, "Just a little bite out of your neck," but decide not to. I shake my head instead. "Nothing for me tonight, luv." She smiles and walks away, and under my breath I mutter, "I've got enough to deal with as it is."
I put the seatbelt on, then take it off. I like the clicking noise it makes. On. Off. On. Off. But I soon lose interest in that and rifle through the pocket of the seatback in front of me. Hmm. Barf bag. Interesting little notion. I wonder who came up with the idea?
I pull a pen out of my pocket and start to draw my love. No one, not even she, knows it, but I can draw just as well as Angel. Unlike him though, I choose not to go showboating around.
Automatically I draw her, calling upon the thousands of images of her in my mind. When we found out about Angelus' curse. The first time she saw a motion picture. Oh, how her eyes had lit up in that silver glow. She had smiled and clapped her hands. *It's magic, Spike. Oh, its beautiful magic!* Our first car. The look on her face when I let her drive it. God, what a another bloody disaster that was! She had been so happy in the twenties; we would go to all the parties, drunk off the blood of the inebriated guests. I don't know why, but that was the decade that fit her best.
My mind flashes through all the years; the Depression, when feeding had been at the same time the greatest and the worst experience. They were everywhere, so many on the street that no one cared if a few went missing; and yet, even their blood tasted bitter, weary.
Hmm..the sixties. Woodstock was a grand time; nothing like LSD in the blood to get you in a load of fun. And I couldn't even count the number of times those hippies came up to me asking for drugs. "Hey man...give me whatever *she's* on!" they would say, pointing to Dru.
But one of my most vivid memories of her is of our last night in Prague. She was so close, so *very* close to her second death. Her face so white it could have been sculpted from a glacier. Bruises and blood decorating her, her torn and tattered clothing like some sort of sick wrapping paper. A farewell gift from the mob to me.
I remember her eyes, so bruised they wouldn't open beyond slits, her irises like blue half-moons looking up at me. Beyond words, she could only whimper. Her throat had been nearly crushed. But she did manage to say something. Two small words, but they had meant the world to me.
"My Spike," she had whispered, and the smallest of smiles had lingered on her lip. Both of us remembering the first time she had ever uttered them.
My arms were light but my heart heavy as I carried her out of Prague. I can't remember how I did it, but we left the city.
*My Spike*
My sight is blurry, like trying to look through a windshield in the rain without wipers on. I can't see the paper anymore but I continue drawing this face I have drawn so many times before.
Where did it all go wrong? She was supposed to heal, and it would be like old times. But it's not, and she's not the Dru I fell in love with. The Dru whose love was stronger in me than even the demon.
The Slayer and I had planned out our course of action. I would return to Dru and pretend everything was okay; I would help Dru to bring back Angel, never letting her know that he had his soul again. We both agreed that it would be easy, straightforward, simple.
Except I don't believe that. I can't go back to Dru and pretend like everything's all right. Buffy can live with herself after it; but how can I? How can I lie to her...outright, bold-faced lie? If Dru succeeds and brings Angel back, then Buffy and Angel get to be the happy couple again. And I am left with Dru...but not *my* Dru. Most likely a broken and embittered Dru, since she would have realized that Angelus was gone again; a Dru that doesn't belong to me anymore. A Dru that belongs, at least in part, to Angelus. But she would still be Dru, so would I have the courage to leave her?
This is so bloody confusing. I lean back in my chair and wipe my eyes. I can see again, and the drawing is beautiful. Heartbreakingly beautiful. It is the image of her that is seared the deepest into my memory. Deeper than that of Prague. So lifelike, I can almost hear her words.
*My Spike.*
We had just finished making love for the first time. She had run her nails over my cheek, drawing blood. Her sweet mouth hovering over my skin, her tongue gliding over the liquid. Up from my cheek to my ear, and then a whisper.
"My Spike."
And I had looked at her. Not said anything, just *looked* at her. Because I wanted to forever immortalize that moment. The moment she had truly and completely claimed me as hers.
I can feel the plane's descent, hear the ding as the seatbelt light comes on. Everyone is still asleep in the darkened cabin. There are no witnesses to the silent tears that streak the ridges of my vamp face as I try to let go of everything I ever wanted.
* * * * *
In the cold mirror of a glass
I see my reflection pass
See the dark shades of what I used to be
See the purple of her eyes
The scarlet of my lies
-U2, "Love Rescue Me"
just reminding myself what started it all :)