in which ca spams the log page 4ever

[slayerpreferred]

WHO: Spike & Buffy Summers
WHERE: the cemetery duh
WHEN: Thurs Jun 9 after sunset.
WARNINGS: violence and potential sadfaces forever....
SUMMARY: Buffy finds out Spike no longer has his chip and is majorly not okay with it.
FORMAT: prose okay

Comments

[notquiteidol]

Spike knew he'd made enemies in the city, but they weren't the sort he had ever worried about back home. A couple of angry family members - even the kinds with powers - weren't much compared to demons and witches. But the actual killing part was different and even after, when he'd had no soul and no chip, just the demon in his head, there had been a sick, nauseous feeling that he hadn't done the right thing.

And now?

He was flesh and bone and soul and there was nothing, just the ache of guilt and when his mind had cleared and the scars on his chest had healed, there was just the realization that this place had done more than return his soul. It had given him back his mortality.

Tempered, he had just stayed quiet. Until Buffy.

The Slayer had a habit of being in places at the worst and best times and in this case, she was a beacon of normalcy. Or whatever a hundred and fifty years of violence and blood lust might consider normal, anyway. But he knows her and knows that she's as drawn to him and he is still is to her. Even if he doesn't know her purpose, he isn't surprised to hear her knocking.

Whether or not tonight will give him the courage to tell her anything of real importance is another thing. Either way, the door opens and he steps back to let her in.

"Buffy?"

It's as much a greeting as a question.

[slayerpreferred]

She doesn't move, rooted to the spot and not just because it will give away her purpose. "Spike," she greets, her voice tinny and weak even to her ears. Her gaze is stony as it meets his, and the question in his eyes only echoes along the empty corridors of her head, no answer there for him to see. But she's here for a singular purpose, and she can worry about the consequences with herself later. She knows this is the right thing, even if all it does is make her sick.

Not having much time to ponder before she's made, she looks past him, then back up at his face. Buffy's not home, only Slayer. She's here to do a job and nothing else. Steeling herself, she propels herself forward, landing a kick to his chest meant to knock him back into the far wall.

She's breathing harder than she should be as she walks past the threshold, leaving the door open as she raises the stake from behind her back. This is it. Years of buildup and it ends like this? It almost seems sad, but maybe Spike can appreciate the poetry better than she can.

"A little birdy tells me you can kill again," she grits out, not daring to breathe and yet out of breath all at once. "Have any last words?"

[notquiteidol]

He notices it immediately, gaze going from curious to suspicious in an instant. There was something very wrong about the way she was acting and it isn't going to be anything fun. It takes him a moment before he recognizes the look in her eyes. She's not so much Buffy as she is the Slayer now.

But by then, it's was a little too late, reflexes far too slow to avoid the kick that does exactly what she intended it to do. Unfortunately, there's no extra strength to prevent his bones from breaking and he hits the wall with groan, eyes squeezed shut in pain, trying to suck in a breath.

Gritting his teeth, he cracked open one eye to see how far into the crypt she had gotten.

"Waste of effort trying to do that, love. Someone's already done the work for you," he winced, trying to push himself into a more comfortable position and failing rather well at it.

[slayerpreferred]

Inches away from him in less than a second, she's grabbing the front of his shirt, letting anger guide her. But his words don't make sense, and truthfully, she doesn't want to process them. Curling her fist around the stake, she slams it into his nose, tilting her head to the side like the Buffybot; illustrating how far gone she is. "I didn't quite get that. Speak up, will you?"

Her nostrils flare as her eyes rake over him. A man she had trusted, who had begrudgingly become something like a friend to her, albeit reluctantly. And now they stood here, the way she'd always known they would stand some day. All that really mattered was causing him pain, and doing her Slayer duty.

[notquiteidol]

Blood trickles down his face from where the stake hits and he spits it out as it reaches his lips, the taste actually making his stomach twist up.

"Couple of Jedi," he answered quickly, grabbing the wrist holding the stake as tightly as he can manage, knowing he might not even leave bruises, let alone stand any sort of chance to break it. "Not a vampire."

This wasn't how he wanted to tell her, whatever attitude and defense he had been keeping up until then fading into the desperate hope that something he's saying has gotten through. Because he couldn't stand her living with the guilt if she killed him.

"You're not a murderer, Buffy."

[slayerpreferred]

Even if his superstrength is gone, the touch paralyzes her, and she feels lost. Her heart is aching and the loud beating she hears...isn't hers. Her wrist slips from his hold, shaking fingers seeking out the sound, but she stops just short of touching his chest, stake clattering, forgotten, on the crypt floor. "How..."

Guilt and horror and confusion are all clawing at her insides, struggling for dominance. For all the curve balls this place could've thrown her, this was the last thing she could've expected.

[notquiteidol]

She might have stopped short, but at the show of weakness, he takes her other hand and pulls it to his chest, staring hard at her as the word falls from her lips. It does less to calm him than he'd like, but there's comfort to be taken in her touch, even when he's forcing it.

"Came back from the dead like this. Still me. Memories and all. Just defanged and more harmless than before. Make Angel look like a bloody Doberman," he almost sounds bitter about it, but the venom fails to really stick when he winces slightly.

[slayerpreferred]

Buffy doesn't pull away, staring at their hands for a long time, no emotion shown on her face. She's having difficulty remembering to breathe and it's almost like the walls are closing in.

"You do realize Dobermans are attack dogs, right?" But she's not paying attention to the words, eyes slowly making the trek back up to Spike's face. Human Spike, Spike's human face. An eerie calm seems to wash over her and she'd rather have the panic. She'd rather have this all be as simple as vampire, meet stake.

But nothing is simple anymore.

[notquiteidol]

"Yes and I'm a sodding golden retriever," he muttered, releasing her wrist to wipe his face with the back of his shirt sleeve, wondering when she'll move. When it doesn't happen, he squeezes her hand.

"Or maybe one of the little ones. All bark. Maybe you should stake me. See if I come back as a vampire."

[slayerpreferred]

"Like a chihuahua?" she asks like it really matters, chest tightening all the more at his suggestion. Her hand drops, finally, balling at her own side. She knows she can't kill him. As far gone as she is, it would've been hard enough to kill vampire-him. Human-him is out of the question.

Trying to act like it doesn't matter, she hooks her toe around the stake, kicking it towards him. "Stake yourself. I won't stop you."

[notquiteidol]

The thought makes him laugh a little and he sags back a little more into the wall when she pulls away. And he doesn't quite manage to stop that stake from knocking into his shoulder. Or at all, since he's nursing tender ribs instead.

"Help me up?"

He knows how pathetic he's being, but can't quite manage the give a damn to sto himself.

[slayerpreferred]

She wants to scream and yell and tell him that he's a big stupid bumface, but instead she just silently holds out her hand. He's too pathetic to waste her time on even and yet here she is, trying to talk herself into leaving. Why did the only familiar face have to be this one? The one she had confided in, and so naively trusted. She would help him up and then she would leave.

Easier said than done.

[notquiteidol]

He pulls himself up, knowing she can take his weight, and there's a half thought to take her into his arms and hold her, regardless of pain or the fact that she'd just tried to kill him. He doesn't and whatever remaining traces of emotion dissolve into his usual distant look, as if he were sizing her up for a meal and not stifling the deeply rooted love that had no demon filter to work through now, leaving him at a loss.

What chance did he have to win her back in this state? Or any considering what he'd done. Here and in their own little dimension.

There's about a million conversations they should have, but he isn't going to start them and he digs into his pocket gingerly to find a pack of cigarettes.

"Should work on that kick. Didn't quite manage to puncture my lung," he says, putting as little of himself into it as he can. It almost works.

[slayerpreferred]

"I would say I'm sorry," she says, her tone petulant as she moves back into the crypt to sit on Spike's "bed." "But I'm not."

So then what is all this guilt bubbling up the back of her throat. She feels sick and dizzy, and had she even eaten today? So many thoughts and Spike's not volunteering to answer any of her unasked questions.

"Do you have to do that?" She doesn't even look up, staring at her shoes as if they'll tell her all of Spike's secrets. At least they were nice shoes. She could've been ported in wearing flip-flops or something.

[notquiteidol]

"Course," he shrugs heartlessly.

He doesn't bother to answer her questions, but after looking at the carton for a moment, flicks it down onto the table on his way to sit down on the bed beside her. It's as much of a meaningful gesture as he'll give and he looks at her as she contemplates her shoes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, giving up on trying to play the jerk card.

[slayerpreferred]

"Peachy with a side of keen," comes automatically, but she doesn't even look up. She's exhausted and done with the City and her new life here. She hadn't even wanted her old one. It's with a deep breath that she allows it to finally show, the toll this place has taken on her already freshly-resurrected self. Suddenly she doesn't want answers or anything else. Buffy just wants to not be here; to not be anywhere at all.