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Chapter 36: Bastard In Love
Author’s Note: This chapter covers the same time period as Chapters 3 and 4
Since a couple of people have asked: Part II is approximately half the length of Part I, give or take a few thousand words. Some chapters, like this one, cover the same time period as two or more chapters of Part I—either because Spike wasn't doing as much during those chapters or because several chapters of Buffy's side might cover a single day... which only takes an entry or two in Spike's Journal.
I decided that it would be too distracting to jump viewpoints constantly, so I'm going to let you read the Journal along with Buffy, and then let you read her reaction at the beginning of Part III and see if you've come to the same conclusions that she has.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae*
*because Spike is English, I’ve made a rather anal retentive attempt to spell things “properly.” My beta (who IS British), has asked that I include the following disclaimer: “Any Britpicking mistakes are my beta's, because she reads too much fic written by you bloody Americans and is used to your bizarre ways by now."
Credits: This chapter contains some dialogue from the episode "Out of My Mind" written by Rebecca Rand Kirshner.
Chapter 36
Bastard In Love
10 October 2000
Amazing, innit, the sort of junk you can find tossed out in the city scrap yard?
Got a couple of old lamps, only a bit banged up. Shades are a bit tatty in spots, but not like I bloody care.
Half-decent stereo speakers and an arse-load of wiring. Could maybe run some electricity down to the room below.
Some manky old blankets that only need a bit of a scrub to get the dump stench out of them.
Even found half a mannequin someone had tossed out. Thought about bringing it back, dressing it up… give me something to talk to and beat up on now and then but… too poncy. And pathetic.
Then there were the bloody Slayerettes, waltzing in as if they owned the place. The Slayer descended from on high to wallow in the muck with the rest of us soulless prats. Never imagined she'd dirty her boots traipsing through the scrap yard, but there she was, looking like she'd just stepped out of a bloody magazine, wrinkling up that ridiculous little nose of hers while her Teutonic twat of a boy-toy glowered over her shoulder.
Pity that glowy demon bloke didn't take the lot of them out, instead of busting up one of the better lamps I'd found.
Wanker.
After they left, I was a little surprised to see they'd left the Harris, the boy wonder, behind. Tossed him in amongst the rubbish where he belongs and left him there, sleeping like a babe. Thought about waking him up and mocking him for a bit, show him how little his mates care for him that they'd leave him behind like that. But I figure he'll wake up on his own eventually, confused and wondering where the bleeding hell he is.
See how he likes it.
***
14 October 2000
Finally got the satellite dish for my telly up and running, but there's only so much TV I can watch before going stark raving mad.
Lately I've been taking up patrolling before bed. Patrolling. Clearly been spending too much time around the Slayer when I'm using her white-hat words instead of calling a hunt a hunt. Not quite as satisfying as hunting to feed, but a good fight always leaves me feeling better after.
Been doing it for a while, but lately I've been getting more methodical about it. Studying how the Slayer does it instead of just picking random fights. Got to hand it to her, she knows what she's doing. Starts out the evening over in Shady Rest most nights, sweeps all the new graves, then goes cemetery to cemetery looking for signs of trouble.
If I fit my route around hers we barely cross paths and she doesn't have to know why there are a few less nasties every night. I like my violence, yeah, but I'm not about to give her the satisfaction of seeing what I've been reduced to, having to kill my own kind.
Not that I really care about my own kind.
Evil pretty much means I don't have to give a good goddamn about what I'm killing, though some of those wankers at Willy's seem to have taken it all personal. I leave the harmless ones alone, though. No fun in taking them out when they barely fight back. Give me a big old Vrolyk or a Fyral and by the time I stagger back to the crypt I'm pumped and ready for a nightcap and a good shag.
Course, lately I've got to settle for the nightcap, my hand, and a long distance cuddle with a sleeping Slayer.
Last few nights she's come to bed reeking of Eau de Toy Soldier and it's all I can do not to punch in my own bloody nose to avoid having to smell it.
Except, of course, for one little thing.
Slayer doesn't know it, but a vamp's sense of smell is really very acute. One of those senses that drives us into bloodlust for the first decade or so before we get a handle on it. When I focus on it, I can smell everything.
Her sweat, all sweet, bitter and delicious. Makes my mouth water, wanting to lick it all up.
His, on her, and lately it smells a bit sickly. Rank. God I hope he’s sick with something nasty and incurable.
Can smell the condoms they're using; sort of powdery, rubbery smell overlaid with antiseptic.
Can smell his spendings, even with them using condoms. Bloody revolting, and even sicker smelling than his sweat—not to mention he's practically sterile. Not that I'm going to tell him that. Whatever those Initiative wankers pumped into him hasn't done his swimmers any favours.
Hers, on the other hand… didn't think there was much in the world that smelled as good as Slayer blood. Hell, that smelled as good as blood, when it comes right down to it. Course, I've smelled her arousal before. She gets all hot and bothered when she's fighting, though it'd twist her knickers if she knew I knew that. First time we ever fought she was aroused and on the rag; gave me a bit of an appetiser, smelling that.
Smelling her satisfaction, however—even when it's due to the greasy fumbling of Private Finnegan—fuck, makes me want to bathe in it. Shag her senseless before I finally tear into her throat.
Nothing in the world could possibly compare.
So, as much as I hate smelling him on her, smelling her more than makes up for it.
Even if it means I can practically count their orgasms. Interesting thing… his outnumber hers, three to one.
Somebody clearly needs some lessons in satisfying a Slayer.
***
18 October 2000
Harmony came bolting in tonight.
"Is it safe? Has Buffy gotten to you yet? I saw her patrolling just now… with a stake!" As if this is unusual? Harmony’s never gonna be a Mensa candidate. Single-celled organisms are smarter than she is. "She won't give up until she's killed me to death!"
I consider it a point in my favour that I overlooked her butchering of the English language. Really, what are they teaching children in school nowadays?
"Buffy's looking for you?" I asked, sceptical. The idea that the Slayer is still gunning for her is ludicrous.
"Of course! That's why I'm on the lam. Didn't you hear? I'm totally her arch-nemesis!"
Speaking as the Slayer's actual arch-nemesis, I'm more than a little offended. This silly bint thinks one little botched kidnapping is enough to make her the Big Bad?
"Is that right?" I said, trying not to choke her. "I must have missed the memo."
"There was a mem-," she said, her empty little forehead puckering up in confusion. Something must have sparked in her brain, though. "Spike! Oh my god! This is like an actual emergency! I need a hideout so bad. You're my only hope. We're just going to have to rise above our petty differences…Listen, Spike, I'm desperate."
"Desperate, are you?" I tried hard not to purr. There's something about a female being desperate and at my mercy that makes me feel all sorts of manly. This had… possibilities.
"C'mon, Spike. Pretty please? I'll do anything," she promised.
Oh, yeah. Definite possibilities.
"Anything, will you?" Never claimed to be anything but a right bastard so it's not surprising Harmony, of course, jumped straight to the predictable conclusion—though not necessarily what I had in mind.
"Ohhhhh," she said. "You mean will I have sex with you? Well, yeah."
Like I said, not what I had in mind, but who'm I to turn down a shag? Especially since this whole Sleeping Slayer storyline has left me with nothing but a sore left hand for weeks now. Harmony plopped her tight little arse into my chair and fumbled with a cigarette and a cheap lighter.
"Taking up smoking, are you?" I asked.
"I am a villain, Spike. Hellooooo." The coughing kind of ruined it. Silly bitch has been dead less than a couple of years and already forgotten how to use her lungs. Surprising, since I'd think her head would need constant refilling.
"I guess you are at that, what with the Slayer on your tail and all," I said, thinking. She's desperate, needy, and not too bright. There's potential here… I just have to decide exactly what I want to do with it. Could get her to go after the Slayer for me, but I'm still not sure what that'll do to my bargain. Besides, anyone's going to sink their fangs into the Slayer, it's going to be me.
Still, good idea to plant the thought. Use her little delusions of grandeur against her.
I picked up a handful of dust off the closest sarcophagus. "She's not the type to give up, either. She'll hunt you down, day and night, till you're too tired and too hungry to run any more. And then? Then…" I brushed the dust off my hands. "That is you. I guess you're going to have to kill her."
"I tried!" she whined. "It was all hard and stuff. You do it."
"I'd love to," I growled. "But I can't. Remember? I've got this cute little government chip in my head."
She pouted. "Guess it'll have to be me after all. Can you help with the thinking?"
"Yeah," I said. "I suppose I could do that." Tried hard not to grin.
So trusting. So easy. Harmony can't kill her. Not even with my help. Slayer might dust Harmony… bleeding tragedy that would be.
I might be chipped, but I'm still a master vampire. Slayer never really considered how easy it is for me to get others to do my bidding. I've got myself an ace up my sleeve now.
So I'll wait, see what happens.
Opportunity may not be a lengthy visitor, but it's always knocking.
***
19 October 2000
Mr. Gordo?
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
What the hell sort of name is Mr. Gordo?
Couldn't it have been something a little more… mysterious? Romantic? Dramatic? Bad Ass?
Instead she's decided to call me…
Thank the PTB I can't tell anyone about this, and no one will ever see this journal.
I'd never live it down.
***
Twenty Questions
how is it that dead tongues
talk so loudly while living ones
lie so still, with all that needs
to be said hanging in trees
like corpses, and they all perch
about them and peckpeckpeck?
who told them dead meant dead
as door-nails, as dirt, as dust?
just cause my heart lies still,
doesn't mean there isn't lust
and love and desire all burning
beneath my battered breast,
doesn't mean these old eyes
can't see the light and yearn.
when did dead mean barren,
mean not supposed to grin
or dance or drive or watch tv
or smoke or eat or breathe
or love or hate or sleep or dream?
why does dead mean meaningless?
what do souls add to the equation?
is a soul an excuse? not bigger
than a breadbox, not smaller?
and would it kill you to knock instead
of beating my bloody door in?
***
20 October 2000 (1 am)
Any minute now, she's going to kick in my crypt door. She'll waltz in here like a tiny bundle of righteous fury, stake in hand and a quip on her lips, and that'll be the end of me.
'I will show you fear in a handful of dust.'
Just yesterday I was threatening Harmony with the same. It's something every vampire knows, fears, from the moment we're born out of our graves. Somewhere there is a stake with your name on it. Might be waiting for you seconds after rising. Might be a century and change later. Doesn't matter, in the end, how long you've been dead. It's all dust on the wind, a scattering of ashes. Not even bones to bury and no one who'll mourn you after.
Think tonight I might've finally overstayed my welcome.
Can't say I'm sorry.
I'm not.
Had me an opportunity to get this bloody chip out and I took it. She should have known better. Too concerned about her honey to consider her words carefully—not that she ever does. Came barging in earlier, demanding I go hunt him down and take him to the doctor, then slapped me in the face and tore up my finders fee.
Should have said 'please.'
You can't blame a bloke for being brassed as hell, or for leaping at a chance. Had myself a willing partner, waltzed on down to the hospital and picked up the doc. Blighter was smarter than he looked, though.
Opened me up, poked about in my head with a sharp knife, then stitched me back up.
Was in a beautiful mood when the Slayer came in. First I've felt like myself in ages. Wasn't an ideal location for a final battle, and far too many spectators, but I figured I could make do.
Maybe I wouldn't even kill her then. Maybe I'd just have a taste, remind her of who the Big Bad really is.
When I finally had her pinned beneath me, her hot little body writhing and wriggling and fighting me tooth and nail… I didn't want it to end. Wanted to scoop her up and carry her off somewhere, see if I could get her wriggling in a totally different way before I finally sank my fangs in.
Wasn't going to happen, though. Not right then. Still, I wanted a taste so bad my fangs itched and the demon was roaring.
Inches away. Bloody inches and the sodding chip kicks in, blistering my brain with enough voltage that I thought my eyes were going to fry in their sockets. Next thing you know I'm halfway across the room, staring at the Slayer and she's staring at me.
Not sure which of us was the more shocked, truth to tell.
Then Finn's heart stuttered. Heard it pounding away like a bongo when he first entered the room, three seconds from a heart attack. Guess fighting Harmony was too much for him.
When the Slayer went to his side, Harmony and I got the hell out of there. Chip still has me crippled and I'm not going to stick around to see what a really brassed off Slayer looks like.
I may be a risk taker, but I'm not suicidal. Or stupid.
God. It doesn't matter what I do, she's there. That stupid little face. That bouncing, shampoo commercial hair. She's there every time I turn around. Buffy. Buffy. BUFFY.
If she's not kicking in my door and bossing me around like I'm less than one of her little lackeys, I'm stuck with her in my bed every night without even the benefit of a good shag.
I can't touch her. Can't kill her. She's always there, bollixing up my plans. Follows me everywhere. Makes me her pet project. Drive Spike round the bend.
Makes every day a fresh bout of torture. Every night a sodding nightmare.
This has got to end.
Any minute now she'll pound down the door and stake me.
Somehow, I can't find it in me to fear it.
Anything that will take me out of a world that has her in it.
***
20 October 2000 (12 pm)
God.
No.
Please, no.
***
20 October 2000 (10 pm)
Last night…
Last night I went to bed wishing the Slayer dead.
And now…
God, and now… now I…
I'm not really the introspective sort. I'll leave the brooding to Angelus. Not my bag.
But ever since I first came to Sunnyhell my unlife has been nothing but a series of flaming loops being tossed in my direction by the Powers That Bloody Be, and I've been doing my best to jump through them. Came here to cure Dru, got my back broken. By the time I was better, Angelus was back and shagging my girl into the ground. Made a deal with the Slayer so I could get Dru back, Dru dumped me in the middle of South America over it. Came back, kidnapped the witch to do a spell, ended up teaming up with the Slayer again. Dru still wouldn't take me back, so I came back for the Gem of Amara and a little revenge. Got my arse kicked all over the bloody campus and lost the ring to the Angel, of all the unappreciative sods. Came back again, got kidnapped by the government and experimented on like a bleeding lab rat. Got a chip shoved in my head so I can't feed, teamed up with the Slayer again for protection…
and now…
Dru tried to tell me three years ago. Three YEARS ago.
Didn't understand. Couldn't have. It was impossible. Wrong.
Gods this is wrong. Can't you wankers up there see how horribly wrong this is?
I'm not supposed to want this. Not supposed to feel this way.
Not supposed to feel.
Demon, remember? Vampire? Grr? Arrrg? Fangy and sun-challenged and all that rot?
You beat it into your Chosen One that we're nothing but evil, soulless, undead things with no hearts, no feelings to speak of, barely enough intelligence to be able to hold a sodding conversation and then you go and do this?
What am I supposed to do now?
What the hell am I supposed to do?
How long has this thing been inside me? Three years? Longer? Since that first fucking truce? Or before that?
I remember her dancing. So young, then. Barely a woman. Still a virgin. Remember the demon taking note of her and practically screaming Mine!
Mine.
All this time I thought it meant she was mine to fight, mine to kill.
Took a dream, a sodding dream, for me to figure it.
Don't think I want her dead, as it turns out. Haven't for a while. Heart wasn't in it.
Not an easy admission to make, that.
Easier than the truth, though.
I'm in love with the Slayer.
I'm in love with the fucking SLAYER.
Fuck.
I don't know what to do.
***
25 October 2000
At night I watch her sleep.
Such a little thing. Always surprises me how small she is. There's so much packed into her, she seems larger than life.
I thought I knew my enemy. I studied her, that first year. Watched her fight, watched her moves, watched her dance with death, time and again. Even once my back was broken and I had to warm the bench while Angelus rampaged over the field… even then I watched. Watched her bend, watched her bleed, watched her break and put herself back together again. Resourceful, resilient, always adapting, rolling with the punches no matter how much they hurt.
I thought I knew, that first year. I hadn't even begun to understand her.
Three years later—one of them spent practically living in the Scoobies' pockets—and I'm a bit closer.
Can see the girl underneath the Slayer.
Such a tiny thing, and not nearly as fragile as she thinks.
Angelus said you have to love her to kill her. He was wrong.
Girl has the heart of a warrior. She'll love with everything she's got, and you can beat on her heart till she bleeds and it'll just bounce right back, given time. A little bruised, yeah, a little scarred and worse for wear, but no less capable of loving.
Always said that the demon takes people different ways.
Never quite figured out the trick to it, but you see it often enough in fledges. Watcher's Council has it partially right. Something in you dies, and the demon sets up shop. For some there's not much left of the person who was there before, and all that's left is the demon. Mostly, those vamps die early. All stomach, no brains.
But for some of us, it happens a bit different, don't it?
I've always been aware of my demon. Maybe it's my line, maybe it was just Dru. Don't know.
Dru never wore her demon often, mostly only when she fed. Darla and Angelus were always slipping their demon face on and off; it was so interchangeable with their human one.
Me? Always felt like the demon was a mask to put on when I wanted to flash a bit of fang. Gives me an edge when fighting, when asserting dominance, when hunting. Amps up the senses. I don’t think I’m like Angelus, one way with a soul and one way without. God forbid I ever get cursed with one and find out for sure, but near as I can tell poncy William is still there, in me. Demon just set him free
I can feel it, when I’m hungry or frustrated, angry or hurt. Like a caged beast inside, itching to get out, desperate for blood and violence. But it's not all of me, and I can leash it, when I want.
These nights beside the Slayer, it's almost always on the leash.
And it's as confused as I am.
It hungers for her blood, but not her death. It wants her with mind-numbing ferocity… but not to kill. It wants to get close, wants to hunt her, wants to fuck her until we’re both too exhausted to move. Never been like this before. Not even with Dru. The demon mostly ignored Dru unless we were shagging and I let it out to play.
It's confusing the hell out of me.
I've been what I am for a long, long time. Long enough to have integrated the demon, corrupted the man, learnt to survive. Not a nice bloke, no reason to be. I know right from wrong, and mostly I don't care. I've committed atrocities that most humans can't even dream of. Learned early on that mercy, compassion, pity… even if you feel them, they're no virtues for a vampire.
Never learned not to love.
Was the one thing Angelus tried to beat out of me and never could. Loved Dru for so long, even when she didn't deserve it or want it and it took her trying her hardest to finally convince me that my services were no longer required. Even then, even now…
Not much has changed. Only difference is this bitch has a heartbeat and actively wants me to dust.
But it's there. At night I watch her sleep and it's there, burning in me, now that I'm aware of it.
Love.
God, it’d be easier if she were dead. If I could just kill her, maybe this thing inside me would die. It’s all Louhi’s fault, sticking me in that room with her, night after night, making me listen to her, watch her, smell her, feel her heat rising so close it warms the whole fucking bed…
I wish I could tear my heart out, claw it straight out of my chest; wish Angelus had won and beaten this thing out of me. It's sick and twisted, even for one as old and sick and twisted as I am. This is wrong. So wrong.
And yet…
And yet…
***
[written in the margins]
"…—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer…"
-T. S. Eliot
Since a couple of people have asked: Part II is approximately half the length of Part I, give or take a few thousand words. Some chapters, like this one, cover the same time period as two or more chapters of Part I—either because Spike wasn't doing as much during those chapters or because several chapters of Buffy's side might cover a single day... which only takes an entry or two in Spike's Journal.
I decided that it would be too distracting to jump viewpoints constantly, so I'm going to let you read the Journal along with Buffy, and then let you read her reaction at the beginning of Part III and see if you've come to the same conclusions that she has.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae*
*because Spike is English, I’ve made a rather anal retentive attempt to spell things “properly.” My beta (who IS British), has asked that I include the following disclaimer: “Any Britpicking mistakes are my beta's, because she reads too much fic written by you bloody Americans and is used to your bizarre ways by now."
Credits: This chapter contains some dialogue from the episode "Out of My Mind" written by Rebecca Rand Kirshner.
Bastard In Love
10 October 2000
Amazing, innit, the sort of junk you can find tossed out in the city scrap yard?
Got a couple of old lamps, only a bit banged up. Shades are a bit tatty in spots, but not like I bloody care.
Half-decent stereo speakers and an arse-load of wiring. Could maybe run some electricity down to the room below.
Some manky old blankets that only need a bit of a scrub to get the dump stench out of them.
Even found half a mannequin someone had tossed out. Thought about bringing it back, dressing it up… give me something to talk to and beat up on now and then but… too poncy. And pathetic.
Then there were the bloody Slayerettes, waltzing in as if they owned the place. The Slayer descended from on high to wallow in the muck with the rest of us soulless prats. Never imagined she'd dirty her boots traipsing through the scrap yard, but there she was, looking like she'd just stepped out of a bloody magazine, wrinkling up that ridiculous little nose of hers while her Teutonic twat of a boy-toy glowered over her shoulder.
Pity that glowy demon bloke didn't take the lot of them out, instead of busting up one of the better lamps I'd found.
Wanker.
After they left, I was a little surprised to see they'd left the Harris, the boy wonder, behind. Tossed him in amongst the rubbish where he belongs and left him there, sleeping like a babe. Thought about waking him up and mocking him for a bit, show him how little his mates care for him that they'd leave him behind like that. But I figure he'll wake up on his own eventually, confused and wondering where the bleeding hell he is.
See how he likes it.
14 October 2000
Finally got the satellite dish for my telly up and running, but there's only so much TV I can watch before going stark raving mad.
Lately I've been taking up patrolling before bed. Patrolling. Clearly been spending too much time around the Slayer when I'm using her white-hat words instead of calling a hunt a hunt. Not quite as satisfying as hunting to feed, but a good fight always leaves me feeling better after.
Been doing it for a while, but lately I've been getting more methodical about it. Studying how the Slayer does it instead of just picking random fights. Got to hand it to her, she knows what she's doing. Starts out the evening over in Shady Rest most nights, sweeps all the new graves, then goes cemetery to cemetery looking for signs of trouble.
If I fit my route around hers we barely cross paths and she doesn't have to know why there are a few less nasties every night. I like my violence, yeah, but I'm not about to give her the satisfaction of seeing what I've been reduced to, having to kill my own kind.
Not that I really care about my own kind.
Evil pretty much means I don't have to give a good goddamn about what I'm killing, though some of those wankers at Willy's seem to have taken it all personal. I leave the harmless ones alone, though. No fun in taking them out when they barely fight back. Give me a big old Vrolyk or a Fyral and by the time I stagger back to the crypt I'm pumped and ready for a nightcap and a good shag.
Course, lately I've got to settle for the nightcap, my hand, and a long distance cuddle with a sleeping Slayer.
Last few nights she's come to bed reeking of Eau de Toy Soldier and it's all I can do not to punch in my own bloody nose to avoid having to smell it.
Except, of course, for one little thing.
Slayer doesn't know it, but a vamp's sense of smell is really very acute. One of those senses that drives us into bloodlust for the first decade or so before we get a handle on it. When I focus on it, I can smell everything.
Her sweat, all sweet, bitter and delicious. Makes my mouth water, wanting to lick it all up.
His, on her, and lately it smells a bit sickly. Rank. God I hope he’s sick with something nasty and incurable.
Can smell the condoms they're using; sort of powdery, rubbery smell overlaid with antiseptic.
Can smell his spendings, even with them using condoms. Bloody revolting, and even sicker smelling than his sweat—not to mention he's practically sterile. Not that I'm going to tell him that. Whatever those Initiative wankers pumped into him hasn't done his swimmers any favours.
Hers, on the other hand… didn't think there was much in the world that smelled as good as Slayer blood. Hell, that smelled as good as blood, when it comes right down to it. Course, I've smelled her arousal before. She gets all hot and bothered when she's fighting, though it'd twist her knickers if she knew I knew that. First time we ever fought she was aroused and on the rag; gave me a bit of an appetiser, smelling that.
Smelling her satisfaction, however—even when it's due to the greasy fumbling of Private Finnegan—fuck, makes me want to bathe in it. Shag her senseless before I finally tear into her throat.
Nothing in the world could possibly compare.
So, as much as I hate smelling him on her, smelling her more than makes up for it.
Even if it means I can practically count their orgasms. Interesting thing… his outnumber hers, three to one.
Somebody clearly needs some lessons in satisfying a Slayer.
18 October 2000
Harmony came bolting in tonight.
"Is it safe? Has Buffy gotten to you yet? I saw her patrolling just now… with a stake!" As if this is unusual? Harmony’s never gonna be a Mensa candidate. Single-celled organisms are smarter than she is. "She won't give up until she's killed me to death!"
I consider it a point in my favour that I overlooked her butchering of the English language. Really, what are they teaching children in school nowadays?
"Buffy's looking for you?" I asked, sceptical. The idea that the Slayer is still gunning for her is ludicrous.
"Of course! That's why I'm on the lam. Didn't you hear? I'm totally her arch-nemesis!"
Speaking as the Slayer's actual arch-nemesis, I'm more than a little offended. This silly bint thinks one little botched kidnapping is enough to make her the Big Bad?
"Is that right?" I said, trying not to choke her. "I must have missed the memo."
"There was a mem-," she said, her empty little forehead puckering up in confusion. Something must have sparked in her brain, though. "Spike! Oh my god! This is like an actual emergency! I need a hideout so bad. You're my only hope. We're just going to have to rise above our petty differences…Listen, Spike, I'm desperate."
"Desperate, are you?" I tried hard not to purr. There's something about a female being desperate and at my mercy that makes me feel all sorts of manly. This had… possibilities.
"C'mon, Spike. Pretty please? I'll do anything," she promised.
Oh, yeah. Definite possibilities.
"Anything, will you?" Never claimed to be anything but a right bastard so it's not surprising Harmony, of course, jumped straight to the predictable conclusion—though not necessarily what I had in mind.
"Ohhhhh," she said. "You mean will I have sex with you? Well, yeah."
Like I said, not what I had in mind, but who'm I to turn down a shag? Especially since this whole Sleeping Slayer storyline has left me with nothing but a sore left hand for weeks now. Harmony plopped her tight little arse into my chair and fumbled with a cigarette and a cheap lighter.
"Taking up smoking, are you?" I asked.
"I am a villain, Spike. Hellooooo." The coughing kind of ruined it. Silly bitch has been dead less than a couple of years and already forgotten how to use her lungs. Surprising, since I'd think her head would need constant refilling.
"I guess you are at that, what with the Slayer on your tail and all," I said, thinking. She's desperate, needy, and not too bright. There's potential here… I just have to decide exactly what I want to do with it. Could get her to go after the Slayer for me, but I'm still not sure what that'll do to my bargain. Besides, anyone's going to sink their fangs into the Slayer, it's going to be me.
Still, good idea to plant the thought. Use her little delusions of grandeur against her.
I picked up a handful of dust off the closest sarcophagus. "She's not the type to give up, either. She'll hunt you down, day and night, till you're too tired and too hungry to run any more. And then? Then…" I brushed the dust off my hands. "That is you. I guess you're going to have to kill her."
"I tried!" she whined. "It was all hard and stuff. You do it."
"I'd love to," I growled. "But I can't. Remember? I've got this cute little government chip in my head."
She pouted. "Guess it'll have to be me after all. Can you help with the thinking?"
"Yeah," I said. "I suppose I could do that." Tried hard not to grin.
So trusting. So easy. Harmony can't kill her. Not even with my help. Slayer might dust Harmony… bleeding tragedy that would be.
I might be chipped, but I'm still a master vampire. Slayer never really considered how easy it is for me to get others to do my bidding. I've got myself an ace up my sleeve now.
So I'll wait, see what happens.
Opportunity may not be a lengthy visitor, but it's always knocking.
19 October 2000
Mr. Gordo?
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
What the hell sort of name is Mr. Gordo?
Couldn't it have been something a little more… mysterious? Romantic? Dramatic? Bad Ass?
Instead she's decided to call me…
Thank the PTB I can't tell anyone about this, and no one will ever see this journal.
I'd never live it down.
Twenty Questions
how is it that dead tongues
talk so loudly while living ones
lie so still, with all that needs
to be said hanging in trees
like corpses, and they all perch
about them and peckpeckpeck?
who told them dead meant dead
as door-nails, as dirt, as dust?
just cause my heart lies still,
doesn't mean there isn't lust
and love and desire all burning
beneath my battered breast,
doesn't mean these old eyes
can't see the light and yearn.
when did dead mean barren,
mean not supposed to grin
or dance or drive or watch tv
or smoke or eat or breathe
or love or hate or sleep or dream?
why does dead mean meaningless?
what do souls add to the equation?
is a soul an excuse? not bigger
than a breadbox, not smaller?
and would it kill you to knock instead
of beating my bloody door in?
20 October 2000 (1 am)
Any minute now, she's going to kick in my crypt door. She'll waltz in here like a tiny bundle of righteous fury, stake in hand and a quip on her lips, and that'll be the end of me.
'I will show you fear in a handful of dust.'
Just yesterday I was threatening Harmony with the same. It's something every vampire knows, fears, from the moment we're born out of our graves. Somewhere there is a stake with your name on it. Might be waiting for you seconds after rising. Might be a century and change later. Doesn't matter, in the end, how long you've been dead. It's all dust on the wind, a scattering of ashes. Not even bones to bury and no one who'll mourn you after.
Think tonight I might've finally overstayed my welcome.
Can't say I'm sorry.
I'm not.
Had me an opportunity to get this bloody chip out and I took it. She should have known better. Too concerned about her honey to consider her words carefully—not that she ever does. Came barging in earlier, demanding I go hunt him down and take him to the doctor, then slapped me in the face and tore up my finders fee.
Should have said 'please.'
You can't blame a bloke for being brassed as hell, or for leaping at a chance. Had myself a willing partner, waltzed on down to the hospital and picked up the doc. Blighter was smarter than he looked, though.
Opened me up, poked about in my head with a sharp knife, then stitched me back up.
Was in a beautiful mood when the Slayer came in. First I've felt like myself in ages. Wasn't an ideal location for a final battle, and far too many spectators, but I figured I could make do.
Maybe I wouldn't even kill her then. Maybe I'd just have a taste, remind her of who the Big Bad really is.
When I finally had her pinned beneath me, her hot little body writhing and wriggling and fighting me tooth and nail… I didn't want it to end. Wanted to scoop her up and carry her off somewhere, see if I could get her wriggling in a totally different way before I finally sank my fangs in.
Wasn't going to happen, though. Not right then. Still, I wanted a taste so bad my fangs itched and the demon was roaring.
Inches away. Bloody inches and the sodding chip kicks in, blistering my brain with enough voltage that I thought my eyes were going to fry in their sockets. Next thing you know I'm halfway across the room, staring at the Slayer and she's staring at me.
Not sure which of us was the more shocked, truth to tell.
Then Finn's heart stuttered. Heard it pounding away like a bongo when he first entered the room, three seconds from a heart attack. Guess fighting Harmony was too much for him.
When the Slayer went to his side, Harmony and I got the hell out of there. Chip still has me crippled and I'm not going to stick around to see what a really brassed off Slayer looks like.
I may be a risk taker, but I'm not suicidal. Or stupid.
God. It doesn't matter what I do, she's there. That stupid little face. That bouncing, shampoo commercial hair. She's there every time I turn around. Buffy. Buffy. BUFFY.
If she's not kicking in my door and bossing me around like I'm less than one of her little lackeys, I'm stuck with her in my bed every night without even the benefit of a good shag.
I can't touch her. Can't kill her. She's always there, bollixing up my plans. Follows me everywhere. Makes me her pet project. Drive Spike round the bend.
Makes every day a fresh bout of torture. Every night a sodding nightmare.
This has got to end.
Any minute now she'll pound down the door and stake me.
Somehow, I can't find it in me to fear it.
Anything that will take me out of a world that has her in it.
20 October 2000 (12 pm)
God.
No.
Please, no.
20 October 2000 (10 pm)
Last night…
Last night I went to bed wishing the Slayer dead.
And now…
God, and now… now I…
I'm not really the introspective sort. I'll leave the brooding to Angelus. Not my bag.
But ever since I first came to Sunnyhell my unlife has been nothing but a series of flaming loops being tossed in my direction by the Powers That Bloody Be, and I've been doing my best to jump through them. Came here to cure Dru, got my back broken. By the time I was better, Angelus was back and shagging my girl into the ground. Made a deal with the Slayer so I could get Dru back, Dru dumped me in the middle of South America over it. Came back, kidnapped the witch to do a spell, ended up teaming up with the Slayer again. Dru still wouldn't take me back, so I came back for the Gem of Amara and a little revenge. Got my arse kicked all over the bloody campus and lost the ring to the Angel, of all the unappreciative sods. Came back again, got kidnapped by the government and experimented on like a bleeding lab rat. Got a chip shoved in my head so I can't feed, teamed up with the Slayer again for protection…
and now…
Dru tried to tell me three years ago. Three YEARS ago.
Didn't understand. Couldn't have. It was impossible. Wrong.
Gods this is wrong. Can't you wankers up there see how horribly wrong this is?
I'm not supposed to want this. Not supposed to feel this way.
Not supposed to feel.
Demon, remember? Vampire? Grr? Arrrg? Fangy and sun-challenged and all that rot?
You beat it into your Chosen One that we're nothing but evil, soulless, undead things with no hearts, no feelings to speak of, barely enough intelligence to be able to hold a sodding conversation and then you go and do this?
What am I supposed to do now?
What the hell am I supposed to do?
How long has this thing been inside me? Three years? Longer? Since that first fucking truce? Or before that?
I remember her dancing. So young, then. Barely a woman. Still a virgin. Remember the demon taking note of her and practically screaming Mine!
Mine.
All this time I thought it meant she was mine to fight, mine to kill.
Took a dream, a sodding dream, for me to figure it.
Don't think I want her dead, as it turns out. Haven't for a while. Heart wasn't in it.
Not an easy admission to make, that.
Easier than the truth, though.
I'm in love with the Slayer.
I'm in love with the fucking SLAYER.
Fuck.
I don't know what to do.
25 October 2000
At night I watch her sleep.
Such a little thing. Always surprises me how small she is. There's so much packed into her, she seems larger than life.
I thought I knew my enemy. I studied her, that first year. Watched her fight, watched her moves, watched her dance with death, time and again. Even once my back was broken and I had to warm the bench while Angelus rampaged over the field… even then I watched. Watched her bend, watched her bleed, watched her break and put herself back together again. Resourceful, resilient, always adapting, rolling with the punches no matter how much they hurt.
I thought I knew, that first year. I hadn't even begun to understand her.
Three years later—one of them spent practically living in the Scoobies' pockets—and I'm a bit closer.
Can see the girl underneath the Slayer.
Such a tiny thing, and not nearly as fragile as she thinks.
Angelus said you have to love her to kill her. He was wrong.
Girl has the heart of a warrior. She'll love with everything she's got, and you can beat on her heart till she bleeds and it'll just bounce right back, given time. A little bruised, yeah, a little scarred and worse for wear, but no less capable of loving.
Always said that the demon takes people different ways.
Never quite figured out the trick to it, but you see it often enough in fledges. Watcher's Council has it partially right. Something in you dies, and the demon sets up shop. For some there's not much left of the person who was there before, and all that's left is the demon. Mostly, those vamps die early. All stomach, no brains.
But for some of us, it happens a bit different, don't it?
I've always been aware of my demon. Maybe it's my line, maybe it was just Dru. Don't know.
Dru never wore her demon often, mostly only when she fed. Darla and Angelus were always slipping their demon face on and off; it was so interchangeable with their human one.
Me? Always felt like the demon was a mask to put on when I wanted to flash a bit of fang. Gives me an edge when fighting, when asserting dominance, when hunting. Amps up the senses. I don’t think I’m like Angelus, one way with a soul and one way without. God forbid I ever get cursed with one and find out for sure, but near as I can tell poncy William is still there, in me. Demon just set him free
I can feel it, when I’m hungry or frustrated, angry or hurt. Like a caged beast inside, itching to get out, desperate for blood and violence. But it's not all of me, and I can leash it, when I want.
These nights beside the Slayer, it's almost always on the leash.
And it's as confused as I am.
It hungers for her blood, but not her death. It wants her with mind-numbing ferocity… but not to kill. It wants to get close, wants to hunt her, wants to fuck her until we’re both too exhausted to move. Never been like this before. Not even with Dru. The demon mostly ignored Dru unless we were shagging and I let it out to play.
It's confusing the hell out of me.
I've been what I am for a long, long time. Long enough to have integrated the demon, corrupted the man, learnt to survive. Not a nice bloke, no reason to be. I know right from wrong, and mostly I don't care. I've committed atrocities that most humans can't even dream of. Learned early on that mercy, compassion, pity… even if you feel them, they're no virtues for a vampire.
Never learned not to love.
Was the one thing Angelus tried to beat out of me and never could. Loved Dru for so long, even when she didn't deserve it or want it and it took her trying her hardest to finally convince me that my services were no longer required. Even then, even now…
Not much has changed. Only difference is this bitch has a heartbeat and actively wants me to dust.
But it's there. At night I watch her sleep and it's there, burning in me, now that I'm aware of it.
Love.
God, it’d be easier if she were dead. If I could just kill her, maybe this thing inside me would die. It’s all Louhi’s fault, sticking me in that room with her, night after night, making me listen to her, watch her, smell her, feel her heat rising so close it warms the whole fucking bed…
I wish I could tear my heart out, claw it straight out of my chest; wish Angelus had won and beaten this thing out of me. It's sick and twisted, even for one as old and sick and twisted as I am. This is wrong. So wrong.
And yet…
And yet…
[written in the margins]
"…—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer…"
-T. S. Eliot
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