All About Spike

By Mala

Fandom: 'BtVS', post"Gone."
Rating/Classification: PG-13, B/S, angst.
Disclaimer: Grrr. aaargh.
Summary: They can't see.
Dedication: To Lynn, because she asked...and to my twinkie for always keeping the flame burning bright.

She was the one who'd been invisible. Laughing sprite he couldn't see...her voice, her scent, everywhere. And, yet, he felt like he was the one who was without form, without body.

Because she couldn't see *him*.

She never would.

No matter how many times he turned her up many times he fucked her into a matter how many times he saved her in dreams or reality.

He would never see himself in her eyes.

This, he knew, was really what the old wives' tales meant when they said vampires could cast no reflection. She was his mirror...and his mirror would always be blank.

In. fucking. visible.

The same old, same old for good old William. The same old, same old for good old Spike.

The same old nothing.

Smoke rising up between his grasping fingers...dollar bills crumpled in the dust. Cold brown eyes staring over his head.

The same...


With the candles burning low, wax creeping across the table like the dawn, he writes another ode to Cecily. His fingers have cramped up from holding the quill pen. He's had to sharpen the edge with his knife twice all ready and now his thumbs are red and black...blood and ink.

And he can't remember what rhymes with "visage".

She's got a beautiful one, that's for certain.


*When you taketh away your charming visage,
oh, my lady, it causes such missage.*

Lud, what tripe.

He loathes how even language does not bend to his will. Does not see into his heart. So, how can he expect a lady of her station to even glance at his face...?

He's not even a second son. He's the third son of a vicar and the clubfooted sister of an Earl.

She will not hear him. She will not see him.

He is nothing.

But he'll keep trying.


He blinked...glanced down at his polish, not ink. For a moment...just a moment, the glare of the telly felt like wick and tallow.

But he knew he wasn't there. Not in that place. Not in that body. Not in that mind.

William was too cowardly to raise his head, much less look for his reflection.

Spike could look and look and look...but he'd never find it.


The same.

And so different.

He raised his head and whispered "Come in, Slayer."

And she crossed the threshold, came to him, and kissed him without eyes.

Without love.


January 28, 2001.

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