All About Spike
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Believe
By Rocky

Contains foreshadowing for episode 17.



Part 20

“Any idea how much further?”

“Why?  You getting tired, Spike?”

He snorted.

“Probably not much longer.”

“Long way for a walk, don’t you think?”

I turned around now, “Xander’s moving potentials.  It’s not like we had a choice.”  I faced forward again and quickened the pace, “And you don’t care anyway.”

“You’re right,” he stepped up next to me, “I don’t.  Not really.”

“So what’s with the big are-we-there-yet?”

He shrugged, “Like to have a smoke.”

I felt my face scrunch, “So have one.”

“Right.  Repulse you.  Like I need to do more of that.”

“You don’t repulse me.”

“You know I do.”

God, he’s talking a lot tonight.  “I think you repulse yourself.”

“You’d think right,” he muttered low, thinking I wouldn’t hear.

“Stop it.” I crossed my arms and looked at him, “I thought you hated pity, Spike.”

He glanced over, “Exactly.  I hate your pity, and I hate my self-pity.”

“So stop it.”

His teeth clenched, “I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not.” I almost laughed at him, “You’re—”

“You have no idea what it’s like!”

He must’ve picked up on the laugh anyway…

“Buffy, you went wrong for a couple of months…” he shoved his fists into his pockets, “And you still try to repent.” He looked up to the stars, “I’ve been wrong for centuries.”

My eyes followed his to the sky.  The bright lights twinkled for us like fireworks.  I sighed, “But you don’t see the difference?”

“No,” he pulled out a cigarette, “You don’t.”

This time I did laugh, “I think I know that we’re different, Spike.”

He’d already lit the cigarette, and sucked in the smoke, “I don’t think you do.”

Silence took over then, and I listened to the trees rustle, and his smoke hissing from his lips.  We walked like that for some time.



“She said she liked Poe,” he suddenly said.

“What?”

“One of the girls…” he fixed on his boots, “A girl I killed… we were talking about Poe.”

“Isn’t that a Teletubby?”

He frowned, “Edgar… old poet.  Wrote a lot of horror stories…” he trailed off, then glanced over, “How do you know names of Teletubbies?”

I shrugged, and he let it go.  “So you talked about Poe?  So what?”

“And she liked the Grateful Dead… and she loved strawberries.”

“Spike?” I searched for a point to all this rambling.

“She’d be alive right now if…” he brought another cigarette to his mouth.

It got quiet again, and for once I decided to say what I was thinking.

“My mom, she always used to say ‘If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, oh what a Christmas it’d be.’”

Spike frowned.

“Yeah, I never really got it either…”

More quiet, but I knew both our minds were deafening.

“Never heard it before.” Spike muttered.

Quiet.

“She said a lot of stuff I never really got…”

Dead quiet.  Long quiet.  More suffocating than just a pause.

He broke it, “Sometimes… kids make mistakes, I think.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “But we all make mistakes.”

My clicking heels bugged the hell out of me, and I fought to make them stop without slowing down.

“Am I one of your mistakes?”

I could feel his eyes on me, prying for the answer.  Always searched for it in my body language and facial expression if I didn’t answer him directly.  Doesn’t he see how unfair that question is?  But I kept silent, and tried to hold in any reaction.

And I let him guess from that.



“Here’s our spot?” he peeked through a window, “Don’t see any lights on.”

“Maybe he’s out getting new glasses.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll get the door.” I readied for a kick, “You get my back.”

“Pleasure,” he stepped behind me.

The door crashed down and the lights flicked on.

“Slayer…” Spike whispered, “Tell me you see that, too...”

“Ooooooh,” Drusilla danced around the demon in the middle of the apartment, “We can have our picnic now!”

I nodded, “I see her.”

“Not her.” Spike muttered.

“But it is, my Spike…” she hissed, “And his keeper.”

I felt Spike stand up straighter, and we both listened.  I eyed the demon as she spoke.

“But where has my Spiky gone…” Dru wiggled her fingers in the air, coming closer, “To bring nothing more than this shadow?”

Anya’s demon never spoke… it growled, in the middle of the room, waiting for the action to start.  I know how you feel, pal.  I felt like if the fighting started now, Dru would still only talk to Spike.

“Broken.  Beaten.  Bitter.” Dru smiled, “Like smashed dollies with no arms and no homes… forgotten and—”

“Hey, Dru?”

She glared at me.

“It’s not her, Slayer.”

“Oooooh, naughty words!  Bad Spike!”

“Shut up!” I turned to Spike, “What?”

“Buffy, it’s The First.”

“No!  Nasty lying soul!” Dru shouted, “I’m the last!”

Real easy way to figure this one out.  I lifted a lamp and threw it at Dru.  It passed through her and smashed against the wall.  The demon seemed to wake up, watching it shatter to pieces.

“You’ll pay for that, Slayer!” he suddenly growled.

“You know—the last time I checked—I think you demons owe me.”

He charged, and I tripped him into a table.  It smashed underneath him and he pounded the floor with his fists.

“Clumsy Slayer follows glasses…” Dru chuckled, pointing at the window, “Bites the hook.”

“Bringers…” Spike muttered, “Whole lot.”

I glared at The First as I snapped the demon’s neck.



“You alright?” he took my hand, pulling me off the floor.

“Yeah.  Thanks.”

He dropped my hand and waved his in the air, “Was nothing.”

“Right.  Saving my life.  That’s nothing.”

“I didn’t save…” we made our way out the door, “You would’ve been fine.”

I flinched, clutching my hand to my side.  Please, not a broken rib.

“Think it’s broken?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Let’s have a look?”

I stopped walking, raising my eyes to his.  He kept his eyes focused in mine… and concerned, lacking any look of lust or… intention of sliding hands…

“Alright.”

I stepped behind the trees, gasping as the pain shot up my body while lifting the shirt.

Spike crouched low, studying my side.  He shook his head.  His hand slid around my stomach, pressing in soft spots that jolted pain to my spine… and other parts jolted in the good way.

The hand slid up my side then... close to… to that place he needs to stay away from.  My heart raced, and he dropped his hand.

“Think you broke one.”

I let the shirt drop as he stood, “Thanks, doc.”

He let some air out in a smile, and blinked up at me.

“So, um…” I looked him over, “How about you?”

His eyebrows jumped, “Fit as a fiddle.” He bit his lower lip.

I slid my hands over his stomach.  His head tilted, and then he closed his eyes.  I ran my fingers around his sides, and he winced slightly when I pinched him.  I brought my hands back.  His eyes opened.

“Just checking.”


Continued in Part 21

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