tennyo_elf: (SadSpuffy)
[personal profile] tennyo_elf
Summary: Spike looks up at the night sky in San Francisco and contemplates his soul, redemption and love.

One shot Spike only POV before the events of season 9. Only thoughts, no dialogue. Rated G or so, maybe some language.
__________________________________________
Spike stood on the streets of San Francisco, so late at night that the intervals between cars passing his way were shockingly noticeable. He didn’t care though. He stood still, not sure what he was doing and looked up into the sky. Staring into the sky, he noticed little in the dead of the city but he could see a few faint, glittering stars peeking through the light pollution. He didn’t want his mind to wander, but he knew it was only going to be a few minutes until his thoughts would rage and boil and he would go back to hating himself. The only thing that calmed him now were thoughts on stars and how as a young man he thought of different worlds tucked away up in the sky at night. He had wanted to put those worlds into words, with his ill begotten poetry.

Ah, now the torment was back again. Where had that led him, those thoughts of different worlds in the stars? Years later that train of thought had him parboiled yet willing for Dru to led him in to a new world. And it was a new world all right, full of things that he could and would do, that now, with his soul, he would despise himself for all eternity. There would be no rest to his quilt.

Spike laughed humorlessly. He wasn’t stupid like Peaches, he knew he would never be redeemed for what he did and he never specifically sought it. Redemption was something for those who could be, not for the likes of him nor his grand sire. He could never be forgiven and he would never ask. He didn’t need absolution. The only thing he could do now and the only thing he wanted to do was the right thing, go be a hero, and maybe, just maybe, one day he could honor the memory of those he killed. Make their deaths mean something other than a meal or a soddin past time.

He was grateful for his soul, happy even with it. Not happy in the sense of joy but happy in the fact he felt whole, content, in his skin and in his unbeating heart. It felt like he could see again, and understand grander things, bigger purposes than what he could before. Sure he understood most things soulless, but he saw things mostly from a dark point of view, thus his understanding was never complete, and his human half was dulled by demon way of thinking. He wanted to be a man and sought his soul, wishing to forgo his demon. Now he understood love better. And that was the most important part for him. Before love was about possession, a selfish inclination, a want and a desire, full of passion, burning, and consuming as he once put it. Now he knew better. Love was about self sacrifice, about putting others ahead of your own wants, not doing things for you but for them. Love was about understanding what the person needs even if it isn’t you and about letting go. Love was torture, yet the emotion pulled at him like no other, and he would always follow it. Now, he would give and not take. He would never take again.

Thoughts of love always lead him to think of one person, the one that helped him understand all this.

Buffy.

She was the one for him, his true equal, or at least would be if he could catch up to her. She was the yang to his yin. He wouldn’t use the term soul mate, because that reeks of destiny he had no control over, that was Angel’s gig. And the whole soul mate institution bugged him, romantic as it was; he couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole thing was just a cock and bull wool covering for the lazy.

Buffy was or had been his everything; she was the person he didn’t know he was looking for. It had taken him more than a hundred years to find her. And he had to give her up. He had messed up, done stupid things trying to win her. Soulless his love for her was mostly selfish, though a small part of that love was a bit unselfish; mostly he just wanted her for himself. It was love that ran in his blood, full of heat and flame, and it made him feel alive again. It was a passion he felt like no other. But he ruined it. He hurt her, he tried…he almost…no, he had moved past that, she had already silently forgiven him for it, even though he would never forgive himself. He had tried to pull her away from those she loved, and that was not what she needed during such a hard time in her life. He tried to make her come into his world, like a dragon hording treasure. He took, not caring that she might be using him, not really understanding that she could hate herself that much to do so, he thought that she was with him because she felt something for him.

The last year in Sunnydale he gave to her all he could. He gave and never asked for anything from her. He was still in love with her at that time though his love for her was turning into something else. It was being tempered down into something so solid and calm that it frightened him. The passion was melting from a raging river of blood and fire to a smooth stream, constant but soothing. Lasting. He hoped, wanted and thought he saw something special form between them after he got his soul. Buffy had told him she loved him. Ah, but he didn’t know if that was the truth. There were times when he knew she was still waiting for Captain Forehead to ride in on his white shiny pony and whisk her away to parts unknown. Sometimes he believed she meant it when his traitorous heart began to hope. But that was before Angel’s little Twilight stunt.

When Spike came back after his light and magic show in the Hellmouth his first thoughts were to go back to Buffy. He tried but he couldn’t, he was stuck in Los Angeles. Couldn’t call her, it didn’t feel right after the previous year, it felt too worthless, he felt too worthless to not even stay dead for a good cause. Of course hindsight is 20/20 and he probably should have called her. So he spent his time around Angel’s buddies instead and the lot of them didn’t like him. They saw Buffy as Angel’s and his sacrifice as something just to score points with Buffy, of course to him that made no sense. He died to save the world, how could he be with Buffy when he was dust? Angel even told Spike that he and Buffy didn’t have anything special, that she would never love him. He started to think he should just stay away, be his own man, worry just about the mission, but while he was happy thinking about being his own man, he missed Buffy terribly.

Time ticked by, and when he wasn’t stuck in Los Angeles, he became a bloody coward. He bought into everything everyone was saying, including the things he told himself. He didn’t want her to take back those words and so he needed to make a grand entrance, to make sure that his sacrifice would still mean something if he came back. That she might care for him enough to let him have that memory of her love and not toss it aside like used garbage. Of course, battles arose and more time elapsed and he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go back to Buffy. His love for her turned into something so deep, and meant something so much, that he became fearful of it. His love for her turned into a lasting part of him that it was now more than just blood; it was his flesh and bone. It was marrow so unyielding that to see her again would make him want to take, to have, to hold. And he couldn’t do that. He was a bloody coward.

Because in the long run he bollocked it all up. He took too long, he stayed away too long, for her, for him, that he ended up losing her. And he was right, Buffy still held a yen for old Captain Forehead; he had no chance with her now. Their time had passed because he had let it pass, without his notice. And she messed up too, she saved the day like he knew she would, but she caused the mess. And perhaps he messed up by not being there for her sooner. That maybe if she did mean it, that “I love you” in the Hellmouth, him staying away had hurt her. If she needed him and he was just a coward and idiot for staying away, then he had no right to be with her. And so, knowing that, that even if she meant those words or not, he was screwed when it came to her. If she meant it, he had stayed away and caused her to run into the arms of Angel, if she didn’t, she would never love him and that would have shattered him. He could be around her again because now it didn’t matter. He could help her, because it was obvious she needed help and he wasn’t going to ignore her. So his love for her, so deep, so lasting, would remain that constant stream, quite and undisturbed, hidden in a world where he really was her equal and he wasn’t an idiot. In that world they could be together.

Spike tore his gaze from the half hidden stars and continued walking down the street. He would always be in love with Buffy, but it was buried now, and it wouldn’t get in his way of doing what was right. Something was coming for Buffy; he had to keep on his toes. He had to get to work.
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July 2012

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