All About Spike
Chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20  21  22  23  24

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Believe
By Rocky

Part 5

The stake landed dead on, and the vamp poofed out of sight.  Getting late, probably should get home.  I headed towards the fence.

“Had enough?” Spike jogged up next to me.

“Yeah.  Looks pretty dead.”

He half-smiled, following me back to the house in silence.  Not next to me—behind me.  Wonder why he’s back there… what if he’s looking at…  Oh, God!

“Spike!” I turned and his brow rose.  What was I going to say again?

We stood still, waiting for me to finish it.  Nothing came.  He sighed, stepping ahead of me.  I followed him all the way to the steps, but he turned, stopping me there.

“I need to…” his hands fled to his pockets.  “I need to say something before we go back in there…”

Oh no… this can’t be good.  My breath fell uneasy, and soon stopped altogether.  He knew he was making me uncomfortable, but he just took a deep breath and stepped down.  He’s got those remorse-eyes… God, this isn’t going to be good.

“It’s about… earlier…” his body was shivering, “Last night… when, when I…”  His shaking hand lifted now, fingertips brushing against my arm.

I didn’t move—I still wasn’t even breathing.  Hurry Spike, say it and let’s go in.

He sighed.  “I’m sorry for it… what I did… what I said…”

It flashed back to me, the second I pushed all my strength behind my fist, ramming it into his side.  And he had fallen.  I had to say it back—because I am sorry.  He didn’t deserve that… even if he did say… that.

I lifted my arm to his side, and he slid away from me, drawing his arms his body.  I pulled my hand away, tucking hair behind my ears.  “Sorry.”

His stone-face seemed to melt like a candle, no doubt realizing that I wasn’t trying to hurt him.  He had every reason to believe that I would.  I rose my eyes to his, trying to see past the color of them… trying to see what Anya saw—what I hadn’t seen before.

Nothing.  Just his eyes.  They’ve always looked like that.

I stepped past him and into the house.  He hesitated before following me in.



“Buffy!” Xander shouted out.  “Just in time!  Ready to hear the latest great news?”

I came slowly into the living room.  All the Scoobies—even Anya and Andrew.  All the SITs—were there always this many?  And Giles is here?  Looks like more bad news for Buffy.  The basement door closed.  Spike wasn’t going to hear this?

Giles stood, “Yes, well… indeed.  It seems things are getting a little bit…”

“Sacrificial!” Anya piped up.

I glanced around at the worried faces.  Xander’s looked more… annoyed.

“Meaning?” I asked.

“To offer something as a homage—usually involves slaughtering of some kind.” Anya answered with a smile.

“It doesn’t say anything about pig-slaughter…” Andrew’s whiny voice emerged, and grew quieter as he finished, “Does it?”

Giles glanced at me before blinking away.  “According to this passage…” he lifted a book and read from it, “The First will send Bringers to… well, bring… four items for a, um… some form of ritual…”

“Ritual?” I placed my axe in the chest.  “So what’s the sacrifice?”

“The text says… Breath of Fire, uh…” Giles shrugged as he read on, “Heart of Strength, Ghost of Passion, and…” he paused, blinking furiously at the page.  “Eye of Toad?  Egg of Turnip…”

“Uh, Giles?”

“It’s written in hideously condemned text, Buffy.” He dropped the book, which gave a loud thud.  “And I… I haven’t figured the final…”

“Yeah, but… Giles… Breath of Fire?  Where is that?  What is that?”

“We, um, haven’t gotten to that part yet…”  Anya spoke softly.

My eyes looked to the ceiling, then back to Giles.  “Well, what about this ritual thing?  What’s it for?”

Giles glanced around the room.  I followed his gaze to Anya.

Anya rubbed her fingers.  “We, um, haven’t gotten to that part yet…either…”

We all sighed together, and the room stayed silent for some time.  I checked out all the girls, each looking back and forth at each other—like cartoon characters.  Xander and Dawn were standing, both pairs of eyes on me.  And Willow stared at her computer, as if she wasn’t even really there.

I rubbed my eyes.  “Maybe Spike knows something.”



“I don’t know anything…”

I had just opened the door when he spoke from his place on the first step.

I closed the door behind me and sat next to him.  “You could have been in there.”

His eyes rolled, and he turned his head from me.  “Not one for crowds.”

“That crowd is all you have.”

He snorted.  “Angry eyes and jeering mouths… Reminds me of the old Angelus days.”

Now I rolled my eyes.  “Do you have to keep bringing him up?”

His eyes searched me for a moment.  Then he stood, breaking the gaze, and went down the stairs.

I sighed, standing.  “Now what?”

He was sitting on the bed now, his head in his hands.  “I don’t know.”

The silence was sickening, and I walked down the stairs only to break it with the sound of my boots clicking softly against the wood.  He didn’t move.  Just held his head as I reached the floor.

Then he chuckled, and it grew into a whispered laugh.  His head bobbed up and down.  I smiled, but it quickly faded when I realized this wasn’t his funny-laugh.

There was a strained smile on his face when he lifted it.  “You know, sometimes I think I think about him more than you ever did…”

Angel?  I wanted to ask him, but something kept me quiet.

“How he helped you… and hurt you…” his head fell into his hands again, and his words became muffled, “How he… survived… you.”  His fingers scratched into his skull.  “And it stings… the thinking… it stings, and I… if I could just… stop.”

Survived me?  What is that supposed to mean?  Again, I kept my thoughts to myself.  My silence seemed so golden—bringing out whatever it was that kept him at such a distance.

But he seemed to catch on, and also fell silent, pressing his palms against his temples.  We could only hear muffled words upstairs, until he fell back onto the bed, seemingly pushing words out of him… again with the laughter.

“I forgot…” he said between chuckles, “You want the fighter.” He lifted his legs onto the bed and stretched out.  “Right then, Slayer!  Come talk to me when you know what the hell is going on.”  He kicked his boots off, “When there’s something I can kill for you.”

“Alright, Spike.  Those mood swings are way too regular nowadays.  I stood here and listened, and it’s still not enough.  I’m out of ideas.”  I turned to go upstairs.

As expected, another mood swing.  He was behind me in a second.  “Wait!  Don’t go.  I’m sorry, Buffy.  I just thought…”

“Thought what?” I crossed my arms, “What?  I can’t understand?  I don’t know how it feels?  That I can’t feel anything?”

He was blown back by my words.  His speechless mouth hung open.

Might as well finish it up, now.  “This is hard for me, too.” I felt my voice weaken, and quickly gulped away the lump in my throat.  “Don’t you get that?”

He was taking air in slow and unsteady now, lowering his eyes to my stomach.  I could see it—that he wanted to hold me, maybe even kiss me, but was fighting himself from it.  Am I so terrifying?  Is he so afraid?

The lump came back to my throat, and I felt my face grow hot.  The image of Spike became blurry, and I blinked.  A salty drop slid down my cheek, and Spike came into clear view again.  His eyes followed my tear.  He lifted his hand to it, but brought it away quick with wide eyes.  He dropped to the step in an instant and placed his palms over my boots.

“Buffy…” he rubbed my feet and up my ankles, burying his face into my knees.  “I’m so sorry, love…”

Another tear fell down.

He looked up, and in seeing it he hugged my calves.  “What a monster I am…” he groaned, and bent lower.  He spoke between gentle kisses, “Make you cry… make you weak…” he kissed my ankle one last time before he dropped his head against the wooden stair.

I looked down at him—crumpled at my feet, sobbing or shaking.  I stepped down behind him, then crouched alongside him.  I drew my arm across his back and hugged him close.

He didn’t hug back.


Continued in Part 6

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