A demon; a monster.

lovestobrag:

It burned. He knew it would heal before long, but it didn’t keep his skin from looking like a burnt chicken. And smelling like burnt chicken. He’d had worse, he remembered, and survived worse, too, and the pain in his shin was nothing compared to the damage he’d done his heart. Her heart. That damages wasn’t so easily healed with time, blood, and darkmess. He’d have to work at it, for as long as she stayed in Vegas. Longer.

The alley’s shade kept him from burning more, and his position on the ground allowed him to get off that sore leg for the time being. He laid his head in his hands, unaware that Buffy had indeed followed him to this dark corner of the street. At least there was less staring where he sat now, and far fewer conversations about the homeless man on fire. He started when Buffy spoke, and he turned his head up to look at her cautiously. He was surprised, plesently so, that she had actually followed him to have a conversation. It was a relief.

Spike took a deep breath. How did he explain himself without pissing her off again? “I’m sorry. I should’ve called you soon as I got my body back.” He ran his hand over his hair, messing up the gelled back locks. “Should’ve done a lot of things. I didn’t think I deserved to be back in your life. For once, I was a bloody hero, and I don’t know how to live up to that. I don’t feel like I can; I wanted that to be the end, my last bloody hurrah, and instead, I was dragged out of hell and into that poof’s office.” He wished he had his coat, for the smokes hidden inside the best pocket, and cursed himself for not grabbing them before he left. He could use something grounding and the nicotine would have certainly helped.

“You deserve… more than dealing my shit insecurities.” He messed his hair more with a hand raking over his head with another sigh.

As much as Buffy wanted to interject while Spike spoke, she held herself back, biting down on her tongue softly as a way to force herself into silence. A lot of what he said echoed what he had said earlier, but at least the defensive edge had vanished from his words. That helped in keeping her anger from flaring up again.

The blonde maintained the distance between them, but the sharp edges to her form softened, tension slowly draining off her. Perhaps it was that he had literally started going up in flames minutes earlier, or the fact that he had already gone off on him before, but the resentment that she had been spewing out at him was almost completely vanished by that point. Didn’t mean she agreed with anything of what he was saying, but at least she was willing to not argue with it right away.

When he was done speaking, she waited for a moment to make sure there was nothing else he wanted to add, but also to allow herself to fully process what had been said. Buffy could understand, not wanting to be brought back to life. She had struggled with it herself after her own resurrection. Of course, in her case, it had been due to the fact that she had been literally dragged out of heaven. And even then, she had learned to appreciate her return to the land of the living, though it hadn’t been an easy road to get there.

“I could have helped, you know. That feeling of not wanting to be back, I know a little bit of what’s that like. I could have been there for you.” The way he had been there for her, in the way he had been capable of at that time. “You know, it gets a little old, when others insist on deciding what it is that I do and don’t deserve. I’m a big girl. I can make my own choices.” Angel had used that excuse, too, to break up with her so many years ago. She hated the way it made her feel, to have the choice taken away from her, as if she wasn’t capable of deciding for herself. “What I deserved was to know.” Though the words may have sounded harsh, there was no anger in her voice anymore. It was simply a matter-of-fact sort of statement.

He had hardly noticed that she hadn't interrupted while he'd spoke. Spike was too concentrated on speaking to pay much attention to her. As it was, he was more worried that he explanation, despite being honest, was going to make her angry again. He'd never meant to piss her off, though he seemed to be as good at it as he ever was. She deserved the truth over anything else, even if she didn't want to hear it, even if she was angry at him for it.

He tried fixing his hair once he noticed he'd torn it out of sorts, smoothing the bleached locks back over his scalp. He was still hardly looking at her, steel blue eyes instead looking at his charred limb. It was already starting to knit back together, though another sack of blood would speed up that recovery more than just time. Spike's fingers picked at his boot, pulling it away from his ankle some, before moving his hands back into his lap. He needed something to do with his hands that wasn't fucking up his leg or his hair.

"By the time I could call you, I'd seeped in it too long. Been alive for months before I got a body." He leaned back against the wall, head pointed up at the sky. The light was beginning to hurt his eyes. "Was worried I was right, that you wouldn't want anything to do with me. Never said it was sane, just what I thought. Can't help it any more than I can help being blond, or handsome." He knew it was selfish. He knew that when he'd decided to keep his distance. There was some difference in keeping her an arms length away and actively pushing someone away, wasn't there?

"Going mental seems to be what I'm best at. At least, when I've got a soul. Think I was less mental without it, to be honest." He stood, trusting himself enough to at least lean again the wall on his feet. He finally looked up at her, blue eyes catching those greens he'd loved so much. He wanted to reach for her, but knew better than to try. "No one ever said I was a brilliant mind, ey? If it's not a bad idea, it's my foot in my mouth. Gotta have one or the other."

#↫ ❝you're too important for anyone you play the role of all you long to be❞;; buffy↬#↫ ❝when the darkness fades away the dawn will break the silence screaming in our hearts❞;; spike&&buffy ↬

jeronicashippersclub

BTVS INCORRECT QUOTES

Xander: Come on, Spike can’t be good at everything. Who knows, maybe he’s a terrible kisser.

Buffy: No, he’s good at that, too.

Xander: What?

Buffy: What?

jeronicashippersclub

BTVS INCORRECT QUOTES

Buffy: That's ridiculous! Spike doesn't have a crush on me?!

Willow: Yes he does.

Xander: Yes he does.

Anya: Yes he does.

Tara: Yes he does.

Spike: Yes I do.

#↫ ❝wait a time to spare these lies we tell ourselves❞;; musings ↬#//This was hilarious

lovestobrag:

He tugged the blanket closer, trying to stave off the inevitable. Spike’s skin wasn’t the only thing that felt seconds away from burning. He’d done this to himself, to her, and if he let her leave, there’d be no repairing what he had done. As much as he disagreed with what they had argued about so far, he couldn’t let her out of his life for good. That would be a pain he didn’t want to experience, and he damn near let her go despite that fact. For what? His own defensive nature and inability to make amends.

Spike huffed to himself. He was burning up to try to get her to stay, at least long enough to understand. He couldn’t stay, though, if it meant standing here to try to convince her he wanted to make this work. Or to answer those questions, as important as they were. “I can’t stand here to talk,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “and I want you here. I just… I can’t fight you, I wanted to… I’m bleeding burnin’ up to ask you for another shot. Please.” He was getting desperate. He couldn’t watch her walk away again, but the smoke was getting more obvious beneath the comforter. Soon enough, there’s be flames licking the edges. He really liked this blanket.

He could feel a bit of heat licking at his shins, and he wouldn’t be surprised to find his ankle had engulfed in flames. He didn’t look, couldn’t look. Spike also hardly waited for direction before taking a few steps back to find shade or shelter or something. He only hoped she’d follow to a nearby alleyway, where there would be enough shade for at least an hour to keep the sun off him. He patted down his flame-licked ankle, extinguishing the flames with the blanket. It hurt like hell, but would subside before it was time to head back to his hovel. Spike slumped to the ground, still wrapped in the smoking blanket.

There was something to how he said that one word: please. Buffy heard an edge of anguish in his voice, something that tugged at something within her. The resentment she had been holding onto melted away and her resolution changed, now decided to at least hear him out. Not like there had every actually been any actual risk of her leaving. That had literally been the last thing she wanted.

She saw the flames beginning to lick at his flesh, where his ankle was barely exposed to the unforgiving desert sun. It reminded her of the last time they had seen each other, under Sunnydale, and she felt the fist of grief close around her heart one again. When she followed after him this time, there was absolutely no hesitation. Spike had proved, at least for the moment being, that he really meant it when he said he was sorry, and that he wanted her there. In turn, the blonde was happy to give them both another chance. She had hated the idea of everything that had happened between them to come to an end in such an awful note.

The alley wasn’t ideal. But it had enough shade to keep the vampire from meeting yet another fiery end. And it provided shelter from the prying eyes they had encountered out in the open street. They’d be able to have a proper conversation there, at least for the moment being. Emerald gaze remained fixed on him, watched as he slumped to the ground.

The Slayer remained standing, a few steps away from him, wondering if he had even realized she had come along. After a moment, she cleared her throat, a way to announce her presence in case he had yet to notice it. “Alright, I’m listening.” She did her best to not make her words sound demanding. Instead, she intended for it to be an invitation for him to say whatever he wanted to. She’d done enough talking the last time around, with not so great results, so she was willing to start with listening now, see if that shielded a better outcome.

It burned. He knew it would heal before long, but it didn't keep his skin from looking like a burnt chicken. And smelling like burnt chicken. He'd had worse, he remembered, and survived worse, too, and the pain in his shin was nothing compared to the damage he'd done his heart. Her heart. That damage wasn't so easily healed with time, blood, and darkmess. He'd have to work at it, for as long as she stayed in Vegas. Longer.

The alley's shade kept him from burning more, and his position on the ground allowed him to get off that sore leg for the time being. He laid his head in his hands, unaware that Buffy had indeed followed him to this dark corner of the street. At least there was less staring where he sat now, and far fewer conversations about the homeless man on fire. He started when Buffy spoke, and he turned his head up to look at her cautiously. He was surprised, plesently so, that she had actually followed him to have a conversation. It was a relief.

Spike took a deep breath. How did he explain himself without pissing her off again? "I'm sorry. I should've called you soon as I got my body back." He ran his hand over his hair, messing up the gelled back locks. "Should've done a lot of things. I didn't think I deserved to be back in your life. For once, I was a bloody hero, and I don't know how to live up to that. I don't feel like I can; I wanted that to be the end, my last bloody hurrah, and instead, I was dragged out of hell and into that poof's office." He wished he had his coat, for the smokes hidden inside the best pocket, and cursed himself for not grabbing them before he left. He could use something grounding and the nicotine would have certainly helped.

"You deserve... more than dealing with my shit insecurities." He messed his hair more with a hand raking over his head with another sigh.

#↫ ❝you can't play the victim this time and you're too late❞;; images ↬#↫ ❝when the darkness fades away the dawn will break the silence screaming in our hearts❞;; spike&&buffy ↬#Queue

effulgentellie

I ship(ped) it. Every ship I’ve ever shipped. ➟ Buffy and Spike

BOLD what applies to your muse / repost, don’t reblog.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚁𝚈: chipped nail polish. glitter highlight. tall trees with smooth bark. tangled hair. the taste of cinnamon sugar. talking too loud and too fast. overgrown flowers in your hair. crumbling buildings reclaimed by nature. flirting. walking home at three am with no coat. platonic hand holding. blowing smoke out of your nose. dragonfly wings. chaotic good. freckles. fairy rings. secret meetings. gender nonconformity. leather. smudged eyeliner. forbidden fruit.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙿𝙴𝚁: computer errors. a shiver down your spine. haunting beauty. hard liquor. crowns of thorns. shadowed alleyways. decaying plant matter. shattered mirrors and broken glass. corrupted memories. stopped clocks. the scent of stale cigarettes. tattered black hoodies. walking your friends home. the crescent moon. the sea. a graveyard on a foggy day. cold rings on cold fingers. absolution. looking out of the window of an airplane. soft kisses.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷: graffiti. pretending to know what you’re doing. worn paperback books. growing up too fast. parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. lace and combat boots. moth wings. candles on every surface. a weathered deck of cards. turning the music up. fireflies in jars. calloused fingers. drawing on your skin. sunlight filtering through clouds. petrichor. a dying rose in a jar. wearing a crystal pendant. illusions of spells. black cats. mint gum. chapped lips. dirt under your fingernails. the cycle of life and death.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝙻𝙵: murders of crows. frostbitten leaves. wolves howling at midnight. knocking on your door. leaving food out for stray animals. the twang of an acoustic guitar. honey. tiny red buds on trees. claw marks on the walls. golden eyes. slightly too long stubble. knitted fingerless gloves. sleeping on the forest floor. always find your way back home.

tagged by: stole it from the daah

tagging: @peppyanddeadly @mybloodisinyourveins anyone else who wants to.

#↫ ❝wait a time to spare these lies we tell ourselves❞;; musings ↬#↫ ❝the world's a little more fucked up everyday❞;; meme ↬

lovestobrag:

He knew how he looked. In Sunnydale, there was a veil, the Hellmouth creating something that made the supernatural seem normal. Vegas had its quirks, but a man beneath a smoking blanket was not the same as a drunkard stumbling around dressed as Elvis. Or that weird drive thru wedding bit. At the time, Spike was the most unusual part about Sin City. He would be what folks would talk about until finding themselves lost on the casino floor.

He’d noticed one or two glares from passers-by, people who looked more like locals than tourists. Hushed voices he could hear, asking whether they should call the police–the fire department–or leave him to his smoking blanket, voices asked of companions rather than him. He was glad none had taken to that thought. He wanted to find Buffy, not duck out to his hidey hole because of the local law enforcement and how un-vampire friendly they tended to be.

He hadn’t expected her to come back to him. He’d fully expected her to make him find her, make him come after her before she left for good. If she even expected him to come for her at all. He couldn’t get a good look at her, his see-hole giving him glimpses of blond hair and slumped shoulders. “I want a do-over,” he muttered painfully. He could feel his skin burning. “I want to explain without the bleeding arguing, or the hurting, and just sodding talk to you. I want to hear what you been doing the last few years, tell you what I been up to, ‘til I can’t bloody keep my eyes open anymore. I don’t want you to sod off just ‘cause of me. 'Cause I can’t think straight when you’re around.

“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Ya didn’t come here for a fight, and sure as bloody hell wouldn’t have come here just to go.” He’d almost reached out to touch her, but thought better of it. Spike wasn’t going to risk catching flames in broad daylight and blowing it in front of who knows who. He couldn’t see beyond her blond hair. “Go, or come back with me? Just gimme a bleeding answer soon, don’t think I can stand here long.”

For a moment, Buffy just stared at him, petals parted but forming no answer. Her mind struggled to catch up with what was happening, and everything she was feeling. Part of her wanted to be petty, to keep him out in the sun until his flesh was scorching. She was still so furious. Because he hadn’t told her. Because he had yet to apologize for it. And because he had dared kick her out when she had come all this way. But as much as she was hurting, and she wanted him to as well, there was also the fact that he had actually come after her. Out in broad daylight, at the risk of bursting into flame, for good this time, he had come looking for her.

As good as his everything he said sounded, her guard was up now, and she wasn’t able to shake the defensiveness that had arisen during their argument. Especially due to the way it had ended. “I don’t get it.” When she finally spoke, there was hesitation in her tone. “You made it pretty clear you don’t want me here. Why would you want me to go back? Why would I want to go back with you?” So, maybe out under the sun wasn’t the best place to be asking all these questions. Yet, all her visit had earned her so far was heartbreak and pain. As much as he wanted to stay, to go back with him and let him explain everything, she needed a good reason to do so. Something to convince her she wouldn’t regret sticking around as much as she had regretted coming so far.

Clearly, standing in the middle of the street wasn’t the best option. Not just because of the danger it implied for the vampire, but because of how many people were now staring at him under his smokey blanket. It wasn’t as if they could actually have a proper conversation there, with so much attention on them. And she didn’t necessarily want him to turn into dust. At least not yet. She sighed, giving in at least partly, still not completely making up her mind on whether she wanted to actually stick around. “We should at least find you some shade. You’re attracting too much attention. Don’t want to have to explain to all these people why some random dude suddenly combusted.” Was she using that as an excuse so she didn’t have to acknowledge how much she actually did want to go back with him? Maybe. But she wasn’t ready to admit to it just yet.

He tugged the blanket closer, trying to stave off the inevitable. Spike's skin wasn't the only thing that felt seconds away from burning. He'd done this to himself, to her, and if he let her leave, there'd be no repairing what he had done. As much as he disagreed with what they had argued about so far, he couldn't let her out of his life for good. That would be a pain he didn't want to experience, and he damn near let her go despite that fact. For what? His own defensive nature and inability to make amends.

Spike huffed to himself. He was burning up to try to get her to stay, at least long enough to understand. He couldn't stay, though, if it meant standing here to try to convince her he wanted to make this work. Or to answer those questions, as important as they were. "I can't stand here to talk," he muttered through gritted teeth, "and I want you here. I just... I can't fight you, I wanted to... I'm bleeding burnin' up to ask you for another shot. Please." He was getting desperate. He couldn't watch her walk away again, but the smoke was getting more obvious beneath the comforter. Soon enough, there's be flames licking the edges. He really liked this blanket.

He could feel a bit of heat licking at his shins, and he wouldn't be surprised to find his ankle had engulfed in flames. He didn't look, couldn't look. Spike also hardly waited for direction before taking a few steps back to find shade or shelter or something. He only hoped she'd follow to a nearby alleyway, where there would be enough shade for at least an hour to keep the sun off him. He patted down his flame-licked ankle, extinguishing the flames with the blanket. It hurt like hell, but would subside before it was time to head back to his hovel. Spike slumped to the ground, still wrapped in the smoking blanket.

lovestobrag:

He tried to remember the specifics of it. Blue eyes stared down calloused hands, now ignoring the green ones watching him intently. “No. Not much.” Spike briefly met her gaze. “Was mostly fire and heat and… it was a distraction, for a moment. Just a moment.” He’d assumed those would be his last moments. He spent much of it trying to focus on that, on her lips forming those words, in the tears in her eyes as they spoke for what he’d thought was the last time. Instead, the heat became overwhelming, all consuming, and drove her from his thoughts. In any other way to go, it might have been enough to hold on to. It hadn’t been that time.

Despite her doubts regarding the full veracity of her words, one thing she had been certain of, she had wanted to make his last moments better, however way she could. Of course, as it turned out, those hadn’t been his last moments after all. Still, she hated the idea that they hadn’t actually had the desired effect, eased his pain in any way. And then, there was the fact that he was there now, before her, and she no longer knew what to make of what was once meant to be their last goodbye. “Do you wish I hand’t said it. Now that you’re, you know, still undead.” Did she wish she hadn’t? In all honesty, that was yet another thing she wasn’t sure about.

The pain hadn't been diminished, but hearing those words had made his assumed last moments better. He'd felt like he had done something worthy of her, worthy of the loved he'd craved but never wanted to force upon her. He had felt, in that moment, that some day she would mean it, even if he wasn't there. When he turned up almost a month later in the demonic lawfirm, it was his second chance... third chance. Of course, he had screwed that up himself easy enough. "No. I'm glad you did. It was nice to hear, regardless."

#↫ ❝you can't play the victim this time and you're too late❞;; images ↬#//loved this episode #//brought so much of spike to the light #//who he was #//It's my favorite.

spuffygifs

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER | S5E7: Fool for Love Original Airdate: November 14, 2000

lovestobrag:

He couldn’t go after her. The shards of lamp reflected the light from the cracks and holes in the decrepit building upstairs, the slivers of sun coming in against the owner’s wishes. He’d burn through, and if he ever did find her, he’d be a flaming mess before reaching her. What point was there anyway? She’d proven she wasn’t here to see him or to talk, but just to tear him down the way he’d been doing since he’d gotten his soul.

He watched the stairs for a long moment, longing for her to come back, to ask for a do over. He knew she never would. Buffy wasn’t like that, and he’d be lying if he ever claimed that wasn’t part of his appeal. She didn’t ask forgiveness, and even then, he was the one to blame. Spike hadn’t told her, because he couldn’t face her, because he was so damned worried she had already moved on, because he wanted to be the hero he’d died as. The excuse didn’t matter so much as he hadn’t told her.

“Fuck,” he wiped the tears from his face. He grabbed the thick comforter from his bed, lamenting for a moment because he actually liked the bloody thing, and covered himself head to toe with it. There was barely a sliver for his face, and it was so far down the comforter, he wouldn’t be seen by the light of day. Of course, it wouldn’t stop him from becoming Burning Man, but it would keep him from turning to dust in the daylight.

He trounced up the stairs, careful to avoid the larger holes letting sun in, and stopped at the rickety door. Last step before the burning began, last step before he could turn around and let her walk out of his life. He hardly faltered. He heard the sizzling before he’d even stepped from the house, the blanket fighting to keep from turning ablaze. Spike knew she couldn’t be far, unless she decided to sprint from his new abode. That possibility hurt. Her, being unable to get away fast enough, using her Slayer speed and strength to run from him.

“Buffy,” he called, trying to look around. Without peripherals, it was difficult, but his forward facing vision was obscured, too. The small hole he could look through wasn’t quite enough. “Buffy!”

There had been no plan when coming into town, other than seeing Spike. She’d come to him directly when arriving, and now she had nowhere to go. She supposed the airport was the best bet, catch the first flight back to Europe. However, she found the desert air comforting and she figured she might as well take a little time to cool off before she took her final leave.

Buffy wasn’t sure what time it was, but she was pretty sure it had to be early. Still, there was a surprising amount of people roaming the street. She gladly blended in through the crowd, walking aimlessly, wishing to unplug her mind at least for a moment, to forget everything that had taken place moments before.

The blonde didn’t hear her name being called. She did, however, come to a halt when she heard a couple passing nearby loudly complain about some wack job homeless guy walking around in a fuming blanket screaming out some weird word. Rooted in place, she turned around to face the way she had come from, viridescent gaze scanning the passersby. And then she spotted it, a walking blanket spewing smoke. In her mind, there was only one possibility as to what that could mean, though it made absolutely no sense.

Her feelings hurt from earlier, for a moment she considered turning and walking away before he could spot her. The fact that he had come out after her under the sun, however, was enough to keep her from running away. Instead, she cut her way towards him, aware of the many curious glances cast upon them by onlookers. “What are you doing?” she prompted, not bothering to hide her confusion. It made absolutely no sense for him to be out there, seeing as how he had been the one to kick her out in the first place.

He'd noticed one or two glares from passers-by, people who looked more like locals than tourists. Hushed voices he could hear, asking whether they should call the police--the fire department--or leave him to his smoking blanket, voices asked of companions rather than him. He was glad none had taken to that thought. He wanted to find Buffy, not duck out to his hidey hole because of the local law enforcement and how un-vampire friendly they tended to be.

He hadn't expected her to come back to him. He'd fully expected her to make him find her, make him come after her before she left for good. If she even expected him to come for her at all. He couldn't get a good look at her, his see-hole giving him glimpses of blond hair and slumped shoulders. "I want a do-over," he muttered painfully. He could feel his skin burning. "I want to explain without the bleeding arguing, or the hurting, and just sodding talk to you. I want to hear what you been doing the last few years, tell you what I been up to, 'til I can't bloody keep my eyes open anymore. I don't want you to sod off just 'cause of me. 'Cause I can't think straight when you're around.

"I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Ya didn't come here for a fight, and sure as bloody hell wouldn't have come here just to go." He'd almost reached out to touch her, but thought better of it. Spike wasn't going to risk catching flames in broad daylight and blowing it in front of who knows who. He couldn't see beyond her blond hair. "Go, or come back with me? Just gimme a bleeding answer soon, don't think I can stand here long."

nothingbutunlost-deactivated202

Lol it's me

#↫ ❝wait a time to spare these lies we tell ourselves❞;; musings ↬#Queue

ironmaidenhead

Spuffy + the forehead thing

#↫ ❝when the darkness fades away the dawn will break the silence screaming in our hearts❞;; spike&&buffy ↬#Queue

“Well, that makes one of us.” He grumbled to himself, “I didn’t ask for that, and I certainly didn’t want this. But fucking and fighting’s all we’re good at, innit?” It didn’t matter what he said, or what he thought, and he knew it. She came here looking for a fight. Well, she wasn’t getting that from him. Spike wasn’t about that anymore, and all this was doing was exhausting his resolve. If this went on longer, he’d be more than happy to grab his comforter and set off on a smokey morning walk.

He knew that had stung. The silence spoke volumes, but he didn’t have it in him to really care about that anymore. He’d attempted a civil conversation at the beginning, but she didn’t. She’d jumped down his throat near on the moment he saw her standing in his cellar. And yet, it was his cellar. His cellar, and the morning sun had likely peeked over the surrounding mountains by now. He was only still here by virtue of his vampiric weakness. Had times been reversed… well, perhaps he’d have a bit more patience.

“Yeah, and I wish you were still bloody there, ” he growled. Spike could hear the hurt, and all it did was fuel his anger. This whole conversation hurt; the yelling, the refusal to understand, putting him on the defensive instead of having a dignified conversation. This could have gone a lot smoother, had she not come here looking for a fight. “Big bloody mistake.” He mumbled to himself, pressing his palms into his eyes. He knew he was close to tears, whether hurt or angry he wasn’t sure, and he cursed the bloody soul he willing found. He didn’t speak again for fear of losing the last shreds of that resolve.

At least, until he thought she was gone. He couldn’t hold that back any longer, and he screamed, throwing his lone lamp across the room and casting the basement in darkness. Anger felt better than the hurt, though hot tears came with both. The hurt just bled, and bled, and bled until all that he felt was pain. Anger was white hot and loud, violent, but was over much quicker than the hurt, even if the bloody knuckles stayed for more than a few hours.

With every fiber of her being, Buffy regretted making the trip. Whatever answers she’d come to find, it had clearly been hugely misguided. Instead, all she’d gotten was heartbreak. A great reminder of how all the men in her life chose to walk away from her. And Spike was no different, just one more that decided she just wasn’t quite worth the hassle.

On the top floor, hand resting against the door, the blonde hesitated only for a moment. Wondered if perhaps things would be different this time. If he would actually come after her, the way she wished he had done once he’d been reanimated. Her pause was long enough for her to catch the scream that carried from the bottom floor and the sound of something scattering. For an instant, she considered going back downstairs, but then quickly reconsidered.

Spike didn’t want her there. He had made that abundantly clear. There was no point in continuing to force her presence. Not like it would change anything, as she’d seen already. Whatever had once been between them, it was all done. They were done.

Finally stepping out onto the day, the Slayer was blinded by the brightness that greeted her on the other side, eyes taking a moment to adjust. Fresh morning air brushed against her face and she realized there were moist trails down her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure when exactly she’s started crying. After wiping the salty drops away with the sleeve of her shirt, she started walking away, decided to leave town that very day. Not like there was anything else for her in the Nevada desert anyway.

He couldn't go after her. The shards of lamp reflected the light from the cracks and holes in the decrepit building upstairs, the slivers of sun coming in against the owner's wishes. He'd burn through, and if he ever did find her, he'd be a flaming mess before reaching her. What point was there anyway? She'd proven she wasn't here to see him or to talk, but just to tear him down the way he'd been doing since he'd gotten his soul.

He watched the stairs for a long moment, longing for her to come back, to ask for a do over. He knew she never would. Buffy wasn't like that, and he'd be lying if he ever claimed that wasn't part of his appeal. She didn't ask forgiveness, and even then, he was the one to blame. Spike hadn't told her, because he couldn't face her, because he was so damned worried she had already moved on, because he wanted to be the hero he'd died as. The excuse didn't matter so much as he hadn't told her.

"Fuck," he wiped the tears from his face. He grabbed the thick comforter from his bed, lamenting for a moment because he actually liked the bloody thing, and covered himself head to toe with it. There was barely a sliver for his face, and it was so far down the comforter, he wouldn't be seen by the light of day. Of course, it wouldn't stop him from becoming Burning Man, but it would keep him from turning to dust in the daylight.

He trounced up the stairs, careful to avoid the larger holes letting sun in, and stopped at the rickety door. Last step before the burning began, last step before he could turn around and let her walk out of his life. He hardly faltered. He heard the sizzling before he'd even stepped from the house, the blanket fighting to keep from turning ablaze. Spike knew she couldn't be far, unless she decided to sprint from his new abode. That possibility hurt. Her, being unable to get away fast enough, using her Slayer speed and strength to run from him.

"Buffy," he called, trying to look around. Without peripherals, it was difficult, but his forward facing vision was obscured, too. The small hole he could look through wasn't quite enough. "Buffy!"

"Well, that makes one of us." He grumbled to himself, "I didn't ask for that, and I certainly didn't want this. But fucking and fighting's all we're good at, innit?" It didn't matter what he said, or what he thought, and he knew it. She came here looking for a fight. Well, she wasn't getting that from him. Spike wasn't about that anymore, and all this was doing was exhausting his resolve. If this went on longer, he'd be more than happy to grab his comforter and set off on a smokey morning walk.

He knew that had stung. The silence spoke volumes, but he didn't have it in him to really care about that anymore. He'd attempted a civil conversation at the beginning, but she didn't. She'd jumped down his throat near on the moment he saw her standing in his cellar. And yet, it was his cellar. His cellar, and the morning sun had likely peeked over the surrounding mountains by now. He was only still here by virtue of his vampiric weakness. Had times been reversed... well, perhaps he'd have a bit more patience.

"Yeah, and I wish you were still bloody there, " he growled. Spike could hear the hurt, and all it did was fuel his anger. This whole conversation hurt; the yelling, the refusal to understand, putting him on the defensive instead of having a dignified conversation. This could have gone a lot smoother, had she not come here looking for a fight. "Big bloody mistake." He mumbled to himself, pressing his palms into his eyes. He knew he was close to tears, whether hurt or angry he wasn't sure, and he cursed the bloody soul he willing found. He didn't speak again for fear of losing the last shreds of that resolve.

At least, until he thought she was gone. He couldn't hold that back any longer, and he screamed, throwing his lone lamp across the room and casting the basement in darkness. Anger felt better than the hurt, though hot tears came with both. The hurt just bled, and bled, and bled until all that he felt was pain. Anger was white hot and loud, violent, but was over much quicker than the hurt, even if the bloody knuckles stayed for more than a few hours.