|Turn Me On
Doctor, Doctor, Where Ya At?
Glory has been defeated, but at what cost?
The Gift and the days following
|To YOU for reading and to Anona for her grammatical and punctuation corrections and final review. All mistakes are mine because I simply cannot stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
|Rating / Warnings:
SPOILER ALERT: This story is a cross-over with the 'Miles to Go' story in the Unexpected Universe Series. If you have not read that story, but intend to, then you should read it first! You do not have to read it for this spin-off to make sense. There is a *lot* more detail of what lead up to this story there, much more than is contained in the prologue, however. If you have read that story, then this prologue will be review for you.
NC17. Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.
Buffy simply stood there and stared, frozen in place with fear and shock, unable to move or even breathe. It felt like she stood there, unmoving, for a very long time – an eternity perhaps. In reality she’d only hesitated a few seconds before she screamed Spike’s name and hurtled herself at the pile of debris.
She began digging frantically, tossing bricks away with supernatural speed and power. Her fingers began to bleed, her nails were ripped and broken past the quick, but still she continued to dig wildly. Then Willow and Giles were there helping her; even Tara, still weak and a bit wobbly, came up to try and help. They all flung bricks and bits of wood away, manually moving the tons of rubble from the sidewalk and out into the street.
After what seemed hours, Buffy finally caught sight of him. “Spike!” she screamed, reaching down to touch his bloodied, bruised, and broken face. “God, Spike! I’m so sorry!” she cried as she continued pulling the debris off him. “Jesus, please be alright … I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. Spike, please,” she continued to beg as her ravaged hands worked to free him.
Tears rolled from her eyes, leaving dirty tracks of guilt on Buffy’s cheeks as she dug. After what seemed another eternity, they finally got enough of the weight off him for her to see his whole body. He was laying on his side, his arms still clenched around Ben's lifeless form. Blood was soaked into the dust that covered him – almost every square inch of his clothing seemed to be coated in red grit. Buffy's heart stopped when she saw the thing she feared the most: one of those jagged pieces of lath protruding from Spike's ribcage, just under his left armpit.
"STOP! Stop moving!" she screamed at her friends, spreading her arms out to still their movements. "Giles! Isn't that near his heart?" Buffy demanded, pulling her Watcher over to her so he could see the protrusion.
Giles frowned down at the vampire and the stake-like wood that stuck out from between two ribs. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up slightly, but not removing them.
"Giles ...tell me. Can I take it out without dusting him? I should be able to, right? Just pull it out, right?" Buffy half-pleaded, half-demanded of her Watcher.
"Indeed, do be careful to pull at the exact trajectory it went in to avoid ... errr .. further injury," Giles offered tentatively. "Don't wriggle it about in there," he advised.
"I hadn't planned on doing the hokey-pokey with it," Buffy grumbled back at him, eyeing the wood, sizing it up like she would a demon before an attack.
"It appears to have come in from this angle," Giles observed, showing Buffy how it was angled slightly back toward Spike's head. "Pull it out the same way – and be quick about it, before he wakes up and begins moving about."
"Thanks for that extra pressure," Buffy whispered, swallowing hard. She was good at jabbing bits of wood into vampires, she'd never really worried about how she pulled them out before.
"You can do it, Buffy," Willow assured her, giving her friend a supportive smile.
Buffy nodded and swallowed again, even though her mouth was dry. She maneuvered so she could pull the stake out at the correct trajectory, then took a deep breath and held it. She reached her right hand out and slowly, gently wrapped her fingers around the length of wood, careful to not put any downward or sideways pressure on it as she did so. She closed her eyes, unable to watch. For reasons unknown – some superstition or childhood habit – she mentally counted, One ... two ... three!
On 'three' she yanked the wood out. She could feel it grate and tug against Spike's ribs and she imagined a million splinters embedding into the bones as she pulled it out. She fell backwards with the bloody length of wood and let out a painful grunt when she landed awkwardly on her left wrist. Her heart refused to beat. She was afraid to open her eyes – afraid to look, but in the next instant she heard Spike's moan of pain. Relief flooded her. Her eyes flew open and her heart lurched and charged forward at a gallop in her chest, like a racehorse leaving the gates.
"Spike!" she called again, dropping the bloody wood and scrambling forward again. She grabbed Spike under the armpits and carefully extracted him from the last of the rubble, leaving Ben behind. When his legs came free, she fell backwards onto her ass in the center of the music shop and Spike’s lifeless body landed on top of her.
Buffy wrapped her arms around him and lowered her face to his as she rocked him gently, soothingly, like a mother would rock a frightened child. “I’m so sorry. Spike … please, please be alright,” she continued to murmur to him as more hot tears streamed down her face. How could she have thought he’d attacked Ben out of jealousy? How could she have been so hurtful, so cruel to him? She’d been on the verge, quite literally, of a mental breakdown in the desert, been under enormous strain, but she knew that was no excuse.
Spike’s body was broken, literally. Buffy doubted there was one bone in his body that hadn’t been at least cracked. His hips and legs lay at an odd, unnatural angle to his torso, as if his pelvis had been shattered and twisted out of place. One foot was turned sharply inward, the other straight out; one knee seemed to be bent backwards, like a flamingo’s, and both bones in each forearm jutted out of his skin in jagged, bloody protrusions. His face was unrecognizable; nothing more than a grotesquely swollen mat of blue-black bruises and bright red, bloody cuts and abrasions. And, as if that weren't enough, Spike's body began to convulse spasmodically in the throes of the chip. The chip's trigger had apparently been thrown when she moved him, and it bombarded his concussed, battered brain with an unrelenting wave of agony, overburdening the delicate workings of his mind.
Buffy tried to stop it by gently caressing his blood-and-dust-caked forehead, but it did little good, the spasms continued. Distraught, Buffy shook her head in shame and continued to rock him there on the floor like a child, unable to say anything other than, “I’m sorry … Spike please forgive me. I’m so sorry…” over and over again.
Spike, however, did not – could not – hear her.
Sometime after the defeat of Glory:
Spike was fairly certain he wasn’t dead-dead, but the constant pain burning through his body made him he wish he was. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t really even maintain consciousness for very long at a time, and he couldn’t move. Even if pain wasn’t radiating out from every bone in his body, making him fear the slightest twitch, he seemed to be utterly immobilized … paralyzed.
On top of that, it felt like John Bonham and his drum set had taken up residence inside his skull. The pounding was constant and unending, although not really rhythmic enough to be entertaining. Even though the pain wasn’t the all-encompassing, debilitating, white-hot agony it had been, it was enough to keep him from even attempting to move his head or make the slightest sound. He had tried to open his eyes once, but they seemed to be sewn, or more likely, swollen, shut.
From the snatches of conversations he had heard during his moments of lucidity, he gathered that he was, once again, at Buffy’s house. Based on the sounds and smells around him, he was able to deduce that he was in the dining room, although it definitely felt like he was lying on a bed, not the table or the floor. He had no idea how long he’d been here or how long Buffy would allow him to stay. What he did know was that Dawn was safe.
She’d come and sat with him more than once – or he thought it was more than once. Perhaps he’d simply lapsed back into unconsciousness and it only seemed like she’d been there several times. She’d talked to him, but the words were disjointed and made little sense. That didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was he knew he had saved her. He’d kept his promise.
He’d heard Buffy talking to him too, but couldn’t keep his mind focused enough, even when he wasn’t fading in and out of blackness, to hear more than a few words: Idiot … Sorry … Stupid vampire … Should kill … Stubborn … He couldn’t take much comfort from her words; she was obviously still brassed off with him, but he took heart knowing that she, too, was alright. Glory had not hurt her. Glory had not ended the world. His sacrifice had been worth it.
Spike jerked awake at an unfamiliar sound. He’d been in the middle of the dream that had become his constant companion since the fight with Glory. In it he had failed: Buffy had died, Dawn had died – in fact, it seemed that all the Scoobies had died. Glory had won.
In his dream he was on the ground beneath a several-stories-tall tower made of metal – the one he'd seen at the warehouse when he'd been tracking Dawn. Dawn was atop it, screaming at the top of her lungs. He couldn’t get to her; he was broken and bloodied on the concrete below it, unable to move. Then suddenly he saw Buffy racing up the tower, and hope surged in Spike that everything would be fine. His heart soared as he watched her fly up towards Dawn; everything would be alright, after all.
But, as the dream continued, that hope was squashed in an instant.
A bright flash of light above him signaled the opening of Glory’s portal. Dawn’s blood, he realized, had been spilled. He tried again to struggle to his feet, but he seemed to be weighted down – he couldn’t move. He looked up and saw Buffy reach the top of the tower and hope again surged in him, soaring on angel’s wings.
But once again it was cruelly yanked away.
On the ground below Buffy and Dawn, Glory swung the troll hammer with all her godly strength at the base of the rickety tower. The whole structure swayed like a drunken sailor and began listing dangerously to the left. The hell-god quickly hit it again and the tower dropped several feet, buckling in the middle and bending down like a pond-bird snatching a small fish from the shallows. Glory dropped the hammer onto the ground and a satisfied smile curled her red lips as she surveyed her handiwork.
Spike watched, horrorstruck, as the tower dropped out from under Dawn and Buffy. He somehow realized that Buffy was trying to jump off the tower into the portal, but she faltered. When the tower buckled, her feet shot out from under her as she leapt off the end of the demonic high-dive. With no momentum to carry her away from the tower, she fell gracelessly. Her shins cracked loudly against the end of the steel gangplank before she tumbled head over heels towards the concrete below, completely missing the portal. Her arms flailed and windmilled uselessly, as she tried to propel herself forward into the portal, but it wasn’t enough. She reached out towards the steel structure, but it was too far away – there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable.
Spike could do nothing but watch Buffy fall through the air, her speed increasing steadily with nothing to slow her down. He watched in absolute horror, unable to do anything to stop what was happening. When Buffy hit on the concrete below the tower, her body pancaked unto itself and bounced several feet back up into the air before settling down again with a dull thud. Spike could actually hear every bone in her body fold and shatter, every organ explode within her.
Fueled by terror, Spike crawled over to Buffy, his own body mangled, bleeding and broken. “Oh, God, Buffy,” Spike moaned as he realized there was no heartbeat, there was no breath from the Slayer.
It was at that moment that he normally awoke, and today had been no different. If he’d actually had a heartbeat, he was certain that it would’ve beaten a hole in his ribs and exploded out of his chest. He could always feel his tears as they leaked from under his swollen lids, but he couldn’t raise his hands to his face to wipe them away. They ran in cool rivers down the side of his head, pooling in his ears and then dripping to the pillow beneath his head. Spike wasn’t sure if it was the death of Buffy, his broken promises, or the surges of hope, followed by utter defeat, that made the nightmare so frightening and heartbreaking … or all three.
The strange sound that had awoken him sounded again and he realized it was the doorbell. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone ring the doorbell at Buffy’s house before and it made him concentrate hard to hear who it was.
“I got it!” Dawn called from somewhere above, and he could hear her feet pound quickly down the stairs. Then there was one of those moments when the pounding in his head drowned everything out – he couldn’t hear her ask who it was or hear the door open.
The next thing he heard was Dawn exclaiming, “Oh my God!” Then more pounding drums in his ears. Then excited, or perhaps panicked, screaming, “Buffy! Buffy!”
Spike’s adrenaline surged. It sounded like something was wrong. He needed to get up – he needed to help. He couldn’t move. Nothing would move, not his arms or legs, he couldn’t even wiggle his toes or fingers. He swallowed the fear and concentrated on listening again. He could hear Buffy’s footsteps coming from the kitchen; they passed right by him and into the living room, then to the foyer.
Then his stomach lurched as he heard Buffy exclaim, not with fear, anger, or resentment, but with a tone of utter relief and joy, “Riley!”
He let the drumming in his brain take over again. He couldn’t bear to hear anymore.
A few weeks ago…
For the second time in his life, Riley Finn was a deserter. He wasn’t sure if this time really counted, since he hadn’t actually signed anything yet to ‘join up’ with Major Ellis and the army’s new demon fighting taskforce, despite taking the transport to Belize. He wasn’t sure if giving his word to the commander was enough for them to send the MPs after him or not – whatever.
He’d given Buffy an ultimatum, thrown down the gauntlet when they were both angry and frazzled. It had been an immature and stupid thing to do. He was sure if he could just get her to talk to him, get her to open up just a fraction of an inch, he could be the man she needed. He was strong, he was a fighter, he knew demons – he knew her, even if she didn’t. They just needed to take some time to work this out. They’d both made mistakes, but he was hopeful that they could put the bad behind them, start fresh, and rediscover the love they’d shared when they were first together, the love that he still felt. He’d known for some time that she wasn’t in love with him, but, he also knew that she did care about him. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have been so upset about… He felt shame wash over him just thinking about the vamp whorehouse. He sighed heavily and rubbed his tired eyes. He just wanted another chance to earn her love, to show her that he could be everything she needed.
Riley had been riding on overcrowded, stinking chicken-buses all the way from Belize. His back ached, his butt hurt, his eyes were bleary with exhaustion. It was taking forever to get back to Sunnydale. First of all, they didn’t actually have any official schedule for the buses, and often you didn’t know where any particular bus was going. There weren’t any brightly-lit signs on them announcing their destinations; there weren’t any signs on them at all. You had to know which bus went where or know someone who knew. He knew neither. To make matters worse, the locals along the way took great pleasure in sending the gringo in the wrong direction. After a monumental effort and test of his fortitude, he finally made it back to something that resembled civilization. He was overjoyed when he found a bus station with a posted schedule and buses that didn’t allow goats, pigs, and chickens inside. Roads that weren’t made up of nothing but deep potholes and buses with shock absorbers were a big plus, too. When he finally made it into the US, he was even happier to find people that spoke English and didn’t consider him the outsider, the gringo.
Now, as the bus he was on passed the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign, nervous butterflies bloomed in his stomach. Would she be glad to see him? Would she welcome him back or scream at him to get out of her house, out of her town? He had the birthday card he had wanted to send her tucked into the bag at his feet. He’d been nowhere near a post office back in January – what must she have thought of him, not to even send her a card?
He sighed and looked around at his fellow travelers as the bus pulled into the terminal and came to a halt. If he looked as unkempt and rumpled, and smelled as rank, as they did, then he was sure she’d toss him out without a thought. Riley gathered his duffel bag and followed the others off the bus and into the warm spring air, deciding as he did so that a shower and a shave, and perhaps even a short nap on an actual bed, along with a real meal would do him good before he faced the Slayer and begged her to give him – to give them, another chance. As he headed off to find a motel, he allowed hope to surge within him that Buffy would indeed forgive him.
Spike walked into the Bronze. There seemed to be a party going on – more so than normal. He skirted around the gleeful young people, keeping to the edge of the dance floor, and headed to the bar. As he approached the bar he saw her and he stopped dead in his tracks: Buffy. There was no mistaking the long, luxurious shampoo-commercial hair that hung down her back. She hadn’t seen him. He could still leave – get out of here with some shred of dignity.
“Bugger that,” he muttered as he squared his shoulders and walked determinedly up to the bar, parking himself right next to her as he waited for the bartender to take his order.
She hadn’t noticed him, or she was ignoring him – he wasn’t sure which. Only when he spoke, ordering a beer, did she turn to look at him. She looked wonderful. Spike’s throat closed for a moment as their eyes met across the short distance. All the old feelings came flooding back to him and he held her gaze, unconsciously willing them to resurface in her as well.
“Spike!” she crooned happily, smiling wide. “How’ve you been?”
“Brilliant,” Spike lied, taking the proffered beer from the bartender and laying some bills on the bar. “You?”
Buffy seemed to glow in the dim light of the bar; her smile actually grew wider and brighter. “Look!” she exclaimed, holding out her left hand to him. “I’m engaged!”
Spike choked on his beer. He turned away from her, spitting and coughing the liquid out as he tried to clear it from his throat and lungs. “You’re what?” he finally managed, looking back at her left hand, which she still held out.
“Engaged!” Buffy repeated gleefully.
Spike looked at her hand. There was a skull ring on her left ring finger. His skull ring. “That’s … mine!” he accused, pointing at it.
Buffy pulled her hand away. “Nuh-uh,” she argued. “You gave it to me. I threw it away. Dawn found it, so it’s actually hers. Dawn gave it to Riley to give to me – kinda like a family heirloom.”
Spike gawped at her, eyes wide with horror. “You’re marryin’ the enormous hall monitor … with my soddin’ ring?”
Buffy smiled again and admired the ring on her finger. “Yep. I’m thinking maybe a Guy Fawkes Day wedding … you know, with fireworks and a big bonfire,” she gushed. “We’re still trying to find the perfect venue … I was thinking either the beach or the cemetery. Oh! Maybe we could use your crypt for the reception!” she suggested, flashing him her best Colgate smile.
Spike looked at her with righteous indignation. “Have you lost your soddin’ mind, Slayer?” he asked her scathingly. “Did you not hear a bloody word I said about that demon inside you needin’ more than that git could give you? Bloody hell, woman! How’s he gonna keep you alive? How are you ever gonna … be free?”
“Oh, I heard you! We’ve got that all worked out,” she assured Spike with a confident nod.
Spike furrowed his brow and looked at her with confusion. “What does that mean?” he asked as she turned away from him and touched the shoulder of the man sitting at the bar on the other side of her. Only then did he realize the man there was Riley Finn. He watched as Finn turned and looked at Buffy, and then past her at Spike.
“Bugger…” Spike murmured in shock as Riley’s red, demonic eyes locked on his.
“See!?” Buffy beamed. “He’s a demon now, so it’s perfect! He totally understands my dark side,” she divulged, grinning slyly. “Spike, I appreciate all you did – showing me the demon inside and all that stuff with Glory and saving Dawn. It was really nice of you to do, but you know I could never really love you … right?”
“B-b-but … Buffy … I … what …” Spike stammered in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, Spike,” Buffy offered tenderly, her smile fading.
“Buffy … I love you! You said you loved me! How can you … how could you … with him!?” he stuttered, his voice cracking with pain and disgust. “After what he did!”
“Spike,” Buffy cajoled, as if talking to a dimwitted dog. “You always knew I could never really love you. I mean, c’mon. When I thought you had a bit of William in there, yeah – but you proved how wrong I was about that when you hurt Dawn, didn’t you?”
“B-b-but … I thought maybe … one day you could forgive me. That was ... an accident! I helped you! I fought for you. I saved Dawn … for you! I … sacrificed myself for you, Buffy,” Spike pleaded with her. “You said you loved me once – you can love me again!”
“Spike … you knew when I said it that it was the man, William, I was talking to, not the monster. But now I know how wrong I was. You aren’t William, you’re Spike,” Buffy explained to him. “You aren’t a man, you’re a monster.
“But, don’t worry,” she continued, brightening. “You’re totally invited to the wedding. I asked Angel to give me away, but I want you to be a bridesmaid with Giles and Xander. Willow’s gonna be best man, since … well, you know, she kinda set Riley and me up back in college,” Buffy yammered on giddily.
“Oh, you’ll look so good in the robin’s egg blue I’ve picked for the dresses … it’ll really bring out your eyes! And they’re strapless – your shoulders, back, and arms will look great in it! Very sexy.
“What dress size are you? About … ummm …” Buffy looked him up and down. “… an eight … or ten? Anyway, you’ll have to come to the dress shop to be fitted … Oh! And shoes! Let’s see … about size nine … or nine and a half? You can walk in pumps, can’t you?”
Buffy stopped talking as Riley wrapped his arms around her from behind, bared long, sharp fangs that rivaled Spike’s, and sunk them into her neck. Buffy moaned and tilted her head to the side as her eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy.
Spike screamed, waking up as he jerked away from the horror of the dream. For the first time in what seemed a very long time, his eyes actually opened. Buffy was standing over him, a worried expression on her face.
“Spike! Are you … Don’t try to talk – just nod, ok. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are? Do you know me?” she asked, firing the questions off without giving him a chance to answer any of them.
Spike looked around the room, moving only his eyes, which were pretty much the only things that would move. Dawn was standing at the foot of his bed, also looking worried. The left side of her face was still swollen and bruised from where he’d hit her during the attack on Ben. Pain stabbed at Spike’s heart; he’d never meant to hurt her. Never. No wonder Buffy hated him. It was just like she said in the dream: he wasn’t a man, he was a monster. She shouldn’t love him.
Spike blinked back his emotions and took a deep breath as he looked around the room. He had been right; he was in the dining room of Buffy’s house. He was in a hospital-style bed that had been set up where the table used to be. He looked down at his body – every one of his limbs was in a cast of some type. He tried to move his toes – they wouldn’t do anything. He tried to wriggle his fingers – nothing. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. This was worse than when Buffy had dropped that soddin’ organ on him – he was completely paralyzed.
As he tried to come to grips with everything, including the dream about Buffy marrying the prat soldier-boy, and his physical state, he noticed with relief that the banging in his head had stopped. He concentrated and realized he could actually hear everything clearly now. Keeping his eyes closed, he listened and heard more people in the kitchen; some voices he didn’t recognize but one he most definitely did: Riley Finn. His stomach, apparently unaffected by the paralysis, roiled and lurched. It was only a daft dream, he assured himself. Buffy is not marrying the giant git.
Which is why she sounded so very happy and relieved to see him when he showed up ringing her bloody doorbell, he added to himself sourly.
“Spike,” Buffy said again, drawing him out of his musings. He felt her hand touch his cheek and he opened his eyes. “Do you know where you are?” she asked again.
Spike met her gaze and nodded slightly – actually surprised that he could nod – then waited for the pain to return to his head, but it didn’t.
Buffy smiled down on him reassuringly, nodding along with him. “And you remember who I am?”
Spike began to speak, but only a muffled sound came out. Buffy slid her hand to his lips. “Don’t try to talk. Your jaw was broken and it’s wired in place,” she explained.
“Just nod – do you remember me?”
Spike nodded again.
Buffy seemed relieved and gave him another smile. “Do you remember what happened? The fight with Glory near the movie theater?”
Spike nodded again, then shook his head.
Buffy looked confused a moment, then nodded herself. “Sort of – you sort of remember it?”
“Ok, that’s ok,” she assured him. Buffy held up three fingers in front of his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked. “Just nod the number.”
“Seventeen,” he managed to rasp out through clenched teeth, using just his lips and tongue to form the word.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess your smart ass was unaffected by a building falling on you,” she joked, but Spike didn’t notice the pun. His full attention was on her fingers – or more accurately, a ring on her left ring finger – a skull ring. The very skull ring he’d just been dreaming about. The very one that he’d given her as an ‘engagement’ ring when they’d been under Willow’s love spell.
What the bloody hell? But before Spike could even try to ask her about it, they were interrupted by a deep voice from the door that led to the kitchen, “Buffy, can I talk to you a minute?”
Spike jerked his eyes in that direction. Riley Finn was standing there, hands on hips, his full attention on Buffy. Finn never looked at Spike at all, but Spike could see his eyes. He was happy to see they weren’t a demonic shade of red, at least.
Buffy patted a hand down on Spike’s shoulder comfortingly. “Be right back,” she murmured to him as she got up and followed Finn into the other room. Spike’s stomach, which had started to relax just a bit before Finn appeared, turned upside-down inside him.
Spike looked at Dawn and silently beckoned her to take the seat near his head that Buffy had just vacated. “You’re supposed to be resting,” Dawn told him as she sat down near the head of the bed.
“Finn,” he ground out through his wired jaw.
“Oh yeah! Cool huh? He just showed up a couple of days ago. Wow – you have no idea how happy Buffy was to see him! I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more over-the-moon happy,” Dawn gushed.
Spike immediately decided he didn’t want to ask why Buffy was wearing that ring. He wondered if the bridesmaids’ dresses would be robin’s egg blue. He wondered if he could walk in pumps.
“Dawn? Don’t you have homework you’re supposed to be doing?” Buffy’s voice floated in from the other room.
Dawn rolled her eyes. “You’d think me not ending the world would earn me a break,” she groused lightly. Dawn bent down and kissed Spike’s cheek.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for not letting me end the world.”
Spike nodded and clamped his eyes closed as tears welled in them. It appeared to be the only thing he was able to do – cry. And he called Finn a git.
Spike tried to listen to what Riley and Buffy were talking about, but they, along with the other people he’d heard talking earlier, had apparently gone out the back door – he couldn’t hear anything. His chest tightened with jealousy and anger and frustration.
Part of him wanted to go out there and confront her; wanted to find out what exactly was going on. Why the hell was Finn back? What did he want? Was Buffy really back with the berk? Hadn’t he, Spike, shown her that he would keep his promises? Hadn’t he proven his love for her time and again?
Another part of him didn’t want to know anything. It didn’t want to know that by hurting Dawn, accidental as it may have been, he’d shown Buffy that he couldn’t control his demon and had driven her away. He didn’t want to know that she loved William, but not Spike. He didn’t want to hear her say that as soon as he was well enough, that he’d have to leave Sunnydale and never see her again. He didn’t want to know that he had simply been the rebound guy. He didn’t want to know that now that Finn was back, she’d dropped her pet vampire like a hot, demonic potato.
Spike had been ready and willing to die to keep his promises and save Dawn. Now, as he lay alone, unable to move, barely able to speak, he wished with all his heart that he had died in the fight with Glory. At least he would’ve gone out knowing that he’d done the right thing. He could’ve died clinging to the illusion that Buffy would’ve grieved for him and forever considered him to be her hero. That would’ve been so much better than the harsh reality that stabbed like icicles into his heart, leaving him cold and hollow inside, and unable to do anything but weep.
Next: Why is Buffy wearing that skull ring? Can Spike walk in pumps? Can Giles and Xander, for that matter? Seriously, Buffy has some 'splaining to do.
Turn Me On, David Guetta ft. Nicki Minaj
Doctor, doctor, need you bad, hold me babe
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