All About Spike - Print Version
My Torment and My Peace
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I miss him.
Eighteen months after he returned from Africa, 12 months after he sacrificed
himself. I feel like a vital part of myself is destroyed. I hate myself for
letting him go. I know it was his decision to make, but I didnít even try to
stop him. I wonder what hurt him worse, his body being torn apart or the fact
that I acted like I didnít care?
time, I thought I didnít. Since Spike had returned from Africa, I had been
friendly with him. I helped him when he needed someone to guide him through is
moral dilemmas and problems. I patrolled with him. I even invited him to dinner
a few times, but I always kept him at armís length, and I never gave him any
reason to believe weíd be more than friends. Sometimes I wondered if we were
really friends at all, so it never occurred to me to stop him from saving
Xander. Why would I choose Spike over my best friend?
ask me to. Didnít even suggest it, or treat it like it was an option. He just
sized up the situation, kissed Dawn goodbye, smiled at Anya, and then he was
gone. And Xander was there. We ran to him, crying with relief, Anya kissing him
and promising to love him forever, begging him to never scare her like that
again. Dawn was crying too, but I knew it wasnít for Xander. She wasnít even
looking at Xander, she just hugged herself, standing away from the rest of us. Willow was beside herself with joy, but I saw her
eyes darting to the place we last saw Spike, and they seemed a little clouded.I wasnít expecting it to hurt like
this though. I wasnít expecting to dream about him and wake up crying. I wasnít
expecting to miss the way he smiled at Dawn like she was the most precious
jewel and he was awed to be in her presence. I wasnít expecting to miss the way
he smiled at me; if Dawn was a jewel, I was his sun. I missed the way his eyes
darkened before he kissed me. I missed the way his hair curled when he didnít
bother slicking it back. Sometimes I would want to tell him about a certain
move Iíve learned, or show him a new weapon Giles has sent from England, but
then I remembered that heís not here.
Anya confessed to me that Xander misses Spike too. Some
nights he goes up to the cliff where the whole sordid thing happened and talks
to him. We put a small memorial on the cliff for him, where we lost him.† He tells
Spike how Dawn is doing in school, about her latest boyfriend, the way sheís
cutting her hair. He† also updates Spike
on my progress; about my latest job, how many
vampires Iíve slain, any new injuries I get. A million trivial things that
Spike should know himself.
even got to thank him, or apologize to him. I wanted to thank him for taking
care of Dawn, for loving her. I wanted to thank him for helping me kill the
nasties. I wanted to thank him for being there when I needed him and for
leaving when I wanted to be alone. I wanted to apologize for all the times I
hurt him, all the times I ripped his heart out, all the times I turned my back
on him. In other words, I wanted to tell him that Iím proud to call him a
friend.† I always put it off because he
wasnít going anywhere. Barring an unfortunate meeting with a stake, he should
have been immortal. I should have had plenty of time to talk to him. I try to
assure myself that he probably already knew everything I wanted to tell him,
but that doesnít make it better, or easier.
wasnít prepared for the void his absence has created in my world. My life went
on as usual, I still fight and avert apocalypses. I still take care of Dawn. I
still go† to the Bronze with my friends,
and to work, and I even started taking night classes. I even took a poetry
class. I recognized several of the poems Spike used to recite when he thought I
was asleep, including Byronís She Walks in Beauty.
though, I donít feel so lonely. Sometimes, when I call his name in my sleep, I
swear I hear him answer. Thatís impossible, of course. Heís probably in some
hell dimension, banished for eternity from light and love, and any chance he
had at redemption. Or maybe the final sacrifice redeemed him, maybe he was
already redeemed because he could love. No matter what happened before or where
he is now, he died a man.
She misses me. She doesnít know Iím here.
clever punishment, really Someone, somewhere is one sick bastard, rivaling even
Angelusís depravity. See, Iím to spend the rest of eternity watching her;
unable to touch her, talk to her, hold her, comfort her, even smell her. Iíll
always be here and sheíll never know it.
when I was undead. I was miserable without her, and miserable with her, but at
least I could talk to her. If nothing else, I could goad her into beating me.
Some contact, no matter how negative, was better than none. Not now though, now
I just watch.
me into a bloody watcher.
reward too, for saving her friend. This is hell and itís heaven, living with my
murderer, watching my savior. Sheís my sin and my touch of grace. She owns the
night and outshines the sun. She killed me and loved me a thousand different
times, and no matter how much it hurt I always came crawling back, and now I
can never leave.† I never have to be
away from her and my heart drinks in her beauty daily. Iím happy to be close
enough to her breath, hear her laugh, just watch her be. But my heart breaks
because she was never mine and never could be mine.
have to die in Xanderís place. It was my decision, and I could have walked
away. But I looked at Buffy, and in that second I knew with clarity that I had
never previously possessed that she really could never love me. I **knew**
it.† She never lied to me about her
feelings. She never loved me, would never love me, and could never love me. She
could barely tolerate being my friend when I needed her to save my lifeómy
I looked at
Anya, human again after her brief return to the world of vengeance.† She had confessed to me a few days before
that she thought she might be pregnant. She was so excited to have Xanderís
child. She really loved him, like I loved Buffy. Even if she werenít pregnant,
she would be one day. She deserved that.
still hurting from losing Tara the year before. She couldnít lose her best
friend too. I liked Willow, admired her for struggling to do the right thing,
and to earn her own redemption. Though her job was easier than mineóshe didnít
have over 100 years of murder and mayhem under her belt.
clearly as I understood that Buffy would never love me, I understood that these
people would never be my friends, no matter how hard I tried to redeem myself,
to prove myself. I knew that no one was left to mourn my death. Itís a funny
thing, but I had only wanted acceptance. I didnít care where, demon world,
human world, it didnít matter. I just didnít want to be stuck on the outside
for eternity. Iím a social guy, Iíve always been that way. But I didnít belong
anywhere, and never have.
though. Xander belonged in this world with his women. I was a freak, a nobody,
and I was finally forced to admit that to myself. So I pushed Xander out of the
way and jumped to my death. Content that it would end, that I would leave, and
their world would continue to spin for now.
didnít work out that way. Nobody explained to me why I had become a ghost, a
shadow, in Buffyís life. I donít know what I am
supposed to do, or how long I will be here. All I know is that it hurts so
bloody much. I still feel the guilt of the soul, but now I have the added
burden of sitting on the sidelines, unable to help her or Dawn.
truly ironic part is that I have friends now. Buffy misses me, so does Dawn,
and even Xander visits my Ďgraveí to give me weekly updates. I wish I could
tell him not to bother. One day heíll forget why he goes up there, heíll
remember that he hates me, and heíll stop visiting. And it wonít even matter
because I know every minute detail of everything they do. I could only prove my
worth in death, and that stings more than anything else.
I donít think she loves me now. Twice I died for love. Three
times if you count the soul. And it never mattered. Iím still being punished.
This is the gift to the soul and punishment for the demon. Or maybe itís the
other way around?† Punished for loving
the sun. Punished for loving the one woman who had more grace and light and
purity than the stars themselves.
As if being a ghost wasnít enough, Iím waxing poetic now. If
I thought I could, Iíd kill myself again.
poetic isnít even the worst part. The worst part is that Iím awfully broody
now. Which isnít a surprise, really, because I have nothing better to do than
brood. It hurts too much to watch Buffy all the time, and Iíve learned to tune
everybody out. I learned quickly that I canít read, or go for walks to escape
her. I can watch telly, but only if someone else has turned it on. And they all
life, alone as a vampire, alone as a ghost. Loving her from afar, as
always.† She is the best and the worst
that I have ever encountered. My torment and my peace.