All About Spike

The Heart of the Matter
By Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox...Just Borrowing.

Spoilers: Do not read this if you are unspoiled for episode 7.2

Summary: The end of upcoming episode two. How I wish it would go and know it won't. Spoilers below as well as angst. But the ending, I think, will be worth it. Written in the first person, starting with Spike's POV and alternating. Ending with Buffy's.

Dedication: For Alane. As much as I tease you, I hear ya. If they had only let JE draw the parallel between "Beneath You" and "Afterlife" the Buffyverse would have been a better place.

"I've been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my ashes will scatter
But I think it's about
Even if
Even if
You don't love me anymore."
-Don Henley

Shattered. Mind. Body. Spirit. Full of fear and terror and penitence, but somehow shockingly empty. It doesn't matter how I got to this point anymore. It doesn't matter who sees me or why. All that matters is that I *know*. I *know* now what she saw. What they had all seen. And they had been right. God, they had been right.

To see through her eyes now. Really. To see from the perspective of a human even *more* innocent than she. Maddening. More than that, disappointing. Horrifying. Blood in my nightmares. Blood in my dreams. Blood is everything. Life. Death. Birth. And I had shed more needlessly than my share.

I am a killer. A murderer. A rapist. A thief.

Why survive? Why? Why? Why?


Why did I think that a soul would make her love me? Why was I stupid enough to think that it would make anything I did right? Angel? Did I think she'd love me because she loved him and he had a bloody soul? How could she have? He was the same monster as I. Possibly worse. How could he live with what he'd done? Nothing. No amount of penance will ever make this right in my eyes. In her's. In God's.

Mum. She would even hate me now. The only one who ever did love me. And I am everything she taught me to hate. Not a monster anymore. But *still* not a man.

In this place of God there is no salvation.

No end to this. No end. I am immortal and I am damned.


A soul.

He has a soul.

Why? Why? Why?

Why did he do this?


I can't say anything. I can't *do* anything.

What's it like to wake up and realize that while you were sleeping you killed thousands of people? Oh God. Spike.


He's not Spike. He is. Who is he? Did I ever know? Why did he help me? Why did he save me? Why did he help Dawn?

Why did he attack me? Why do I care that he is ... he's crying? Why? He tried to kill us. He tried to save us. Who the hell is he?

I know I look like a moron standing here at the back of this church. Church? Why did he come here? Vampire? Holy water. Crosses. Non mixy. But my feet won't move. I don't know who he is anymore. I don't know what he did. I know he won't hurt me, but I don't.

He's... crying. Spike.

I can't deal with this. I can't. I can't do this. I can't. I can't.

I won't.

I turn to go. I hear him scream. I am still, but I can't not look. I can't walk away. Yes I can. He.... what he did... people don't just let that go. They can't.

But *he* didn't do it.

And he isn't the same.

"Damn it, Buffy." Got to love talking to myself. But I turn around and everything shatters.



As I burn, it begins to make sense. Pain is supposed to make people mad. But I feel the madness lift in a searing moment of clarity. I feel the wood of the cross against my skin. That which was supposed to symbolize love and salvation is destroying me. It is against me. Everything is against me and I deserve it.

As my skin melts I see it all and it finally makes sense. She cannot love that which God hates. She cannot love a monster. She would not have loved William. Me. Whoever the bloody hell I am. It all is crystal clear.

And the crystal shatters into shards tinkling against the stone altar.

Christ have mercy on my soul.

Tee hee. My soul. There is no mercy. Burn me.



Dammit. I need to get out of here. He's ... God, he's doing it on purpose. He's burning himself. I can't watch this. I can't be here. I can't watch him die like this.

I can't let him.

My feet pound down the aisle like some insane bride. He's on his knees. The crying stopped but he's burning. I can smell his flesh. Human flesh. And I am crying and I don't get why my heart is breaking because I never cared about him to begin with. He was convenient.

Who the hell am I fooling? He wasn't convenient. He was the *least* convenient man I ever met.


He's not a man. He's burning. He's a vampire. I hesitate.

A Vampire that tried to kill me. But one that tried to save me. Tried to love me. Said he wouldn't leave. But he did. And he's back. And he tried to... This is because of me.

This is *for* me.


My feet are moving again and I can hear him whimper. Spike. Whimper. His face. His hands.


He looks at me and I see the end of the fathomless blue eyes. The one thing I never thought I would find. Even when I wanted to. The end of Spike. He looks at me and I know. I know he still loves me. I know. Why?

I dive at him and knock him away from the cross. It clatters to the floor, but I can taste the smell of his flesh in the air. He's lying there, beneath me, but I don't want to look. I can't. I can't see his face again because I might see what he did that night. I might see the look of desperation on his face when he pushed me to the floor. When he grabbed me. When he took the one thing I had left. Him.

Or I might see the look of horror when he realized what he'd done.

I can't do this. I saved him. That's enough. I sit up to go.

I feel his hand on my arm. I feel it trembling. I hear him sobbing. I can't turn. I can't feel anything for him anymore. Not after...

I turn my head and look at his hand. Not anything more. If I see his face I know I will crumble.

It's bloody. Burned. Mangled.

I close my eyes and I feel tears. Tears. His hands. My hands.

I was no saint either.



I can't even grasp why she'd even stay here. Why did she knock me down? Why doesn't she just let me suffer? Let me crucify myself in bloody peace. I cannot die. That is an honour I have reserved for her. She earned it after all I have done. When she is ready to put the stake in my heart, then I will open my arms and let her. I will hold her sodding hand and help her. But that is for her to decide.

If I cannot have God's mercy, I will be at hers.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Let me suffer in peace.

Peace. Ha! That's something I'll never know again.

But she sits and never looks back and it dawns on me that she did her duty. Her duty. For I am part of the world that she is supposed to protect. But that's all it is. Her duty.

I lean up to touch her because I know she will disappear. I just want to touch her one last time. It hurts. God, it hurts. I can't really see her. I can't feel her. But my hand burns against her arm and for a minute I feel that I burn because of her. I burn from her goodness. I burn in her light.

She didn't run.


I turn to look at him. Breath stops. His face. His face. It's charred lumps of meat in places, just stuck to his bones. The lips that cursed me and kissed me are red and shiny. His eyes are swollen shut.

Like after that night in the alley. I was a real hero then. Way to go Buffy. Beat up your lover. Or whatever Spike was. Ooh, and have the good graces to say you're sorry later. Not. But he was a monster. Right?


Was he?

Is he now?

I turn around to face him and pull him upright by his wrists. His hands are completely raw now. There is no skin at all in some spots. Vampire or not, this is bad. This might not ever heal.

He might not ever heal.

I might not ever heal.

He's got his legs sprawled out in front of him like a child. Sometimes he acts like one. Sometimes he doesn't. But he looks so scared and so horrified.

Almost like he looked the last time I saw him.

What is a man capable of in his worst hour? A Vampire? Me?

I chuckle. Not a good thing, considering. But it dawned on me that we weren't really nice to each other a lot of the time. Understatement of the year.

Well, if I am not going to let him sizzle, then maybe it's time I did what I should have tried to do before. Be a little kinder. Show him the way. If he fails then, my hands are clean and I can stake him. Or let Dawn. But if I don't, then I am no better than... a monster.

What's up with the maturity?

"Spike?" My voice wavered more than I would have liked, but for some reason, I was crying.

His eyes opened into slits. His swollen lips tried to move. "Whad'you want, Slayer? Leave me alone."

"Shut up, Spike." God, he can be so ... irritating. He looks at me with those horrible burned eyes and all I see is what I refused to see before. Love.

Can he really be a heartless monster if he loves *that* much?

Better question. Why am I somewhere glad that he still does?

He watches me as I scoot in closer, face to face. My hand raises to his face and I trace the edges of the burns. He winces. He needs help. A world of help. My hands drop back to his wrists and I turn his palms to face the sky. They are disgusting. Raw. Bloody.

I look up at him and he is staring at me. It hits me like a ton of bricks.

It wasn't so long ago that he was sitting there trying to patch my hands. Trying to bring me back from the dead. Now he's gone and done the same. He realizes it to. His head tilts the same way as it did that night in my house. Staring at me like I was his saviour.

Like I stared at him the night they pulled me from the grave.

Oh God. We aren't that far apart, are we?

"Can you stand?" It was all I could think of to say.

He nods at me. Barely. Blood is trickling from the corners of his mouth and it makes me cringe. I don't think he can talk anymore. Now that he can't, I find myself dying to hear his voice. Tell me what to do with him because I have no damned idea. Kill him? Save him? Take him home and fix him? Get him to safety and leave? He always told me just where to go.

But he's looking at me like he's lost. I don't think I ever saw that before. And he can't think straight enough to make up his mind. He just stares at me through the slits in his eyes like whatever I say is alright.

But it always was to him, wasn't it?

Hell, what have we done?

"Can you make it back to my house?" I whisper. I can't let him go back to that musty basement. Not like this. He can't be alone now. I'll just have to talk to Dawn. What am I worried about? Big mush that she is, she will be furious, then see him and cry her eyes out and try to clean him up.

The tears are still on my cheeks.

Guess I am not that different from her either.


Don't forgive me, Buffy. Please don't forgive me. I can't bare to be forgiven. Please go and let me suffer alone. Please. I can't do this.

But she's asking me if I can make it to her house. She's leading me out the door and down the dark street and I follow her because that's all I ever do. All I can do.

Why is she doing this?

I can't fight her. I can't speak. I can't see. I can only feel her strong little hand wrapped around my forearm and her shoulder tucked up against my bicep guiding me like a blind man. She's helping me. God, don't help me. Not after what I did.

And Niblet. Don't take me there. Don't let her see me like this. Don't let her see me at all. She sees me. She's always seen me. She saw the good in me when I was bad, then got hurt when the bad came crashing down. She sees me. She hates me.

You should hate me, Buffy.

I want you to.

And I want you to love me.


Dawn opens the door and she starts to get angry until she flips the porch light on and just stares in shock at him. Her mouth opens. Snaps shut. Opens again.

"Dawn help me get him inside." He's leaning hard now. I think he's going to pass out.

"Wh..what happened?" She's scared. She's still mad. I'm still mad. But this is worse than any anger we have. Not helping him now is the same as staking him. Maybe worse

I don't want him dead.

Neither does she.

She grabs his other arm and helps me hold him up. She sees I'm crying and I see that so is she.

"Go get the medical supplies. I'll explain later," I tell her and she nods as I help him sit down on the couch. He can't see anymore either. Speak no evil. See no evil. Wonder if he can still hear?

I sit on the table in front of him and lean forward, taking his wrists in my hands again. It feels right. "You still in there?"

He nods. I can see his cheeks are wet. It makes me cry harder.

"I am going to try and help you. OK. It doesn't mean everything is all better and that I have forgotten ... everything. But it's a start. OK?"

He nods again. I can feel his body hitch. He's trying to cry and his eyes won't let him. I can tell he wants to say something. He always does.

"Why?" It was like a croak. Not real. His lips literally tore as he tried to talk and blood trickled down his chin. I leaned forward and wiped it away with my sleeve.

"If we ever want to ... anything... we're going to have to try and forgive each other. I am still... hurt. Lots of hurt,. But so are you. We're even. You're going to have to earn my trust again. Do you understand?" I meant it. I didn't want to admit it. But I did. It felt good.

He nodded again. "I promise, Buffy," he whispered. It tore my heart out. God, why? Why did it even matter?

Because he mattered.

Dawn came back in with the kit. She looked at us and I think she felt... I don't know. Uncomfortable. But she walked over to him and she crouched down, putting her hand over where she had pushed the stake earlier. There was a pinprick of a hole still in his shirt. She held her hand there for a minute as if willing his heart to beat. Willing him to be a real boy. He was now. As real as anyone else.

"I'm sorry," Dawn whispered, and she ran.

I wanted to run too. But I couldn't. I had to face this. I had to try.

I pulled his hands to me and held them again, then rested one on my knee.

I remembered the night that he did it for me.

And it call came together in a moment. That was really our gift. All of us.

Love. Give. Forgive.

As I spread the ointment on his hands and wrapped them one by one in gauze, I thought about what it meant. I didn't have to forget and let him back in like a switch had flipped. I just had to stop being mad. I had to try to let his actions speak for him. They had been speaking for years now and I just didn't listen. So he did this. For me.

I finished his hands, and looked at his mangled beautiful face. "Spike. ... I... I forgive you." I stood to go. I needed to go make him a bed. The basement, I suppose.

His back tensed and his head shot up like he was looking at me. He tried to open his eyes but he couldn't. I couldn't figure out what he was doing, but he slid off the couch onto his knees, clutching my legs with his wrists. His face shifted up to mine and I could see the tears on his face. I could feel them on mine.

He buried his head in my stomach and I could feel him sob. I wanted to run. But I didn't. Instead, I let my hands touch the soft hair on the back of his head and I held him to me. Because he needed to. Because I needed him to.

Because no matter what he had done and no matter what I had done, we both needed forgiveness.


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