All About Spike

Grounded in Reality
By Kimberly

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. This fic, however, is mine. Please don't take it without my permission.

I regained consciousness just as she jumped, you know. Lying there on my back, too late to do anything to help her, to stop her, to save her, to catch her, to hold her, to protect her, to keep my promise, to prove myself worthy. Too late to do anything but lay there and watch. Watch her destroy my world by saving hers.

I regained consciousness just as she jumped. My vision was a little blurry ... guess I'd hit my head pretty hard. Concussion, probably. Nobody checked. It really doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing.

We both fell from the tower that night, you know. Her and me. Just not together.

Never together.

I regained consciousness just as she jumped. Wasn't sure what I was seeing.

I thought she was a shooting star.


The Nibblet came by today, stood upstairs and shouted my name over and over 'til I finally yelled at her to get out. Just get the fuck out. Just get the fuck out and leave me alone or I'll bloody well kill you.

Wish I could kill. Want to go out there and kill the whole fucking world that doesn't bloody deserve her sacrifice. Want to go out there and rip and tear and destroy and let the blood run, let the blood soak into my clothes and my hair and my skin and the soil ... down into the earth where she's buried, because her blood is gone, gone into that hellhole portal, gone forever. Want to give it back to her.

I want to see the blood run, see it cover the entire world. Red. Red. Paint the town red.

I want to make the world bleed.


When Dru was scared, she used to crawl into my lap like a little child, and I'd wrap my arms around her and stroke her hair and tell her everything would be all right. She always believed me.


The Bit came 'round again today. Could smell her blood. I don't think I've fed in days. Can't rightly remember.

I could smell her blood in her veins, and I wanted to drink it ... wanted to drink it down, wanted to hold her tight while she struggled, wanted to bite into that soft skin and feel that warm blood flow down my throat.

I didn't answer when she yelled.


I never understood why she loved the Poof so much, when he was such a vicious git. Always liked the guaranteed kills, he did ... the little kiddies and half-starved whores. When you get right down to it, your average vampire's like any other predator ... preying on the weak, the ones who lag behind the rest of the herd. Angelus had it down to a fucking science.

That was never my game. One of the reasons we were never great mates. I like the adrenaline of the equal fight ... or even the fight where I'm at a disadvantage. I like proving I can do more than they think I can, more than I think I can -- rising to the occasion, so to speak -- and it takes a real adversary for that to happen. Takes a real adversary for the kill to mean anything, for it to prove anything.

Guess that's why I was always out chasing Slayers.

And look where that got me. Brooding in a dusty crypt. Hell, not even in the crypt, but under it.

All I need's some nancy-boy hair gel and I'm all set. Maybe there's some rats around here somewhere ... I could fix them up for my tea.


Was thinking today about Slayers, about that bit about fighting them in order to prove something. Well, I've fought three and killed three. Didn't mean to kill the third one, but did all the same.

So what does that prove?


Back when I was alive, I was never much of a man. And since I got turned, suppose I haven't really been much of a vampire, either. Never toed the party line. Never one of the popular chaps, dead or alive.

Now, since the chip, I'm not much of anything. Scoobies certainly don't want me hanging about, and the demons'd sooner stake me than look at me. I think my approval ratings may in fact have hit an all-time low. Worse than Clinton and his old disappearing cigar.

Never was much interested in being well-liked, anyway. Do my own thing, you know? Who gives a fuck what everyone else thinks?

Not me.


She once told me that the thing she liked about me was that I always told her the truth, even when she didn't want to hear it. I'll never forget her eyes when she said that.


In this dank crypt I lay my grieving head
And close my weary eyes against the light,
For I'm a creature of the darkest night,
Inspiring naught but hate, disgust, and dread.
Reluctantly my black cloak I have shed --
I nonetheless can ne'er be ought that's bright,
Can ne'er deserve her to my love requite ...
Can only wish it had been me instead.
That eve from highest tower we both fell,
But into love the fall was only one --
She was my foe, my soul, my moon, my sun.
The tolling bells a tragic tale do tell ...
That our one-sided dance at last is done ...
Oh bloody bloody bloody bloody hell!


Scribbled some more verses today. Bloody awful, the lot of them, including the shite from yesterday. Couldn't stand the sight of them. Tore up the lot and lit the pieces on fire. It was nice watching them burn. Flames.

Wonder how Platelet's making out on her own. She must miss the big sis something awful. But, then, I reckon she's got the whole sodding Scooby gang watching out for her these days.


Went up the stairs today, and found fresh blood in the fridge. Must be from the Nibblet. Right nice of her, that is. I was so hungry I just grabbed a bag and bit through the plastic, drank it cold. Bloody disgusting, but it did the trick. I drank all three bags.

There's a sleep sack on the floor upstairs, and a pillow that smells like the Bit. Wonder if she's been staying here nights. Wonder why she would.


When you've failed someone who's gone, how do you ever find forgiveness? How? You can't. You just can't.

I miss her every second, like it's my own body that's been drained of blood, of essence, of life. Like my brain's stopped working, and my heart. Some say my heart hasn't worked in more than a century, but I know different. It's only lately it's gone dead.

Haven't heard the Nibblet upstairs in a while. Guess I finally convinced her to stop coming 'round. Good. Bloody annoying having no privacy in my own home.


Made my way outside tonight. Can't remember how long it's been. Strange, to see the world again, the cemetery, without her in it. Or, rather, buried in it, buried in the ground. Walked to her grave and sat there for a while, watching the sky.

I hoped I'd see a shooting star, but I didn't. Just the implacable, cold, unforgiving constellations watching me with their winking eyes. Judging me. Reminding me.

I lay down, there on that mound of freshly turned soil, and stared at the sky. I waited a couple hours, but the stars never moved. They just stared right back at me.

Finally, I came back to the crypt. Back underground. We're both under the ground now. But not together.

Never together.


What bloody use is eternity when no one gives a fuck whether you're still about or not?

I feel so fucking alone. So useless.

Such a pathetic git. More pathetic every day. I hate it, hate myself being like this. But what am I supposed to do? What do I do now? I just ... have no bleedin' idea. No idea at all.


Last night Nibblet showed up, and she crawled into my lap and cried, and I just held her and stroked her hair and told her everything would be all right. I know she didn't believe me.

But I think it made us both feel a little better to hear it said out loud.

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