Spike
He’s upstairs. I can hear him stomping around, even with my shiny new human ears. I’m on the second floor, in what I guess was the first empty bedroom, and he’s on the third floor now, sounds like. Not surprising, really. He always did like to be on top.
The look on his face when I came in … like he was seeing a mirage. A not terribly welcome one. Again, not very surprising.
Where else could I go? I can’t go to her, because I don’t know where she is. I can’t go to Dru, because that’s long over. Besides, wouldn’t feel right, going to her after I threatened to stake her and all, and I’m not interested in a retread of our past, either as lovers or as sire and childe. I can’t imagine it would be another way, with her—she never was much with the nurturing, anyway. That was more my bag.
Not that I need nurturing. What, am I some baby bird, all helpless and tiny? Bugger that. I saved the world.
So where the hell did he expect me to go? Sure, I guess he wasn’t expecting me, but it’s not like I’m here to rub my humanity in his face.
That’s more of a fringe benefit, really.
I think this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you what hell’s like, right? Sorry, didn’t go there. Didn’t go anywhere. I went up in flames, love-words from Buffy still echoing in my ears, and the next thing I know is I’m lying bare-assed naked in a damned crater of what could politely be called scorched earth. Since the sun was beating down on me and I wasn’t on fire, I assumed it was the afterlife, and since it was the middle of nowhere, I figured I was in hell. Not Dantesque, perhaps, but why would hell have seven circles if they were all the same? Apparently I was in the hell that consigned its inhabitants to eternity without proper sun protection.
I scrambled out of the hole—Now leaving Sunnydale!—and then realized I was hungry. Not for blood. That’s when it sank in.
A few miles outside town there was a vineyard, and I
followed the rows of vines to a little house with laundry on the line, like
something out of an old movie. And so I made my way to
That’s what he thinks, at least. Me? I never had redemption in mind. I got the soul for her, to protect her; it came with baggage I wasn’t expecting.
But if he was the one meant to become human, it would be him here with chapped lips and sunburned skin in a pair of khakis and a T-shirt extolling the virtues of Amsterdam’s Hard Rock Café, which I can tell you is nothing special. That burger is not worth the wait. Of course, it helps if you eat the people ahead of you.
I’m not staying here long—just until I get my strength up and find out where she’s living. I’m just glad it’s not here. If she was here when I walked in—well, I guess this would have been hell after all.
I wonder if she’s happy. What if she has a boyfriend? I watched her with Riley, and in her maneuverings with Wood, but I don’t think I could watch her with another man now. Not after she held me through the night, and told me that she loved me.
I know she survived the battle. Angel hasn’t said a word—bastard, wants to see how long I’ll wait before I ask—but I’d feel it if she hadn’t. I knew she wouldn’t let the world end, and it was my job to make sure she didn’t.
I failed before, but not this time.
If he thinks I’m going to give him the satisfaction, he’s sadly mistaken. His crew can’t be around all the time, and the second they’re gone I’ll be looking through the place for word of her.
Yeah, some things never change. I think it’s something Angel doesn’t realize—he thinks that becoming a human is some kind of magical panacea. Okay, it’s magical, I’ll give him that, but it only changes things on the outside. Superficial things. Okay, being able to go out in the sunlight is nice, toilet needs less so.
But a heartbeat doesn’t change who you are. I told Buffy, years ago, that
Drusilla was the face of my salvation, but all becoming a vampire did to me was
allow William’s primal instincts to come out. I was still unashamed to be
love’s bitch; that’s why Big Blue threatened to toast me when I was in the
chair, because I could still love. And that’s why Angel wants to be human more
than anything else. Not to be with Buffy, but so he will no longer be the man
the Judge laid his hand upon and said had nothing human in him. Because even
with a soul, Angel knows he’s only a moment of happiness away from that. He’s
not even sure how far he is from it with the soul.
He tells himself that becoming human will change all that. And I walk in, and I’m still Spike, not William. I bet it’s making him clench his teeth—he always did that when he was pissed but wanted to seem too cool to react; he’s a hell of a clencher. He must be in torment. He must hate me.
The part he’s not telling himself is that if he becomes human, he’ll die, and that’s part of why he wants it.
Come on, I know all about the wanker’s attempt to off himself a few years ago. Yeah, the First was pushing him. I know for myself that the First is really good at hitting all our buttons.
The thing was, he never chose not
to die. It was chosen for him by some miracle snow. Angel the champion was not
allowed to die, and when he came down here and became Angel the subject of
prophecies, he thought he had some big destiny. Easy come, easy go, I say. He
got cheated? He got the gift of eternal life. If he doesn’t like it, he can
stake himself or set himself on fire or wait for sunrise and see if it snows
again. For god’s sake, don’t just bitch and brood and carry on about what a
burden it is to be cursed. Accept it and move
the fuck on.
I can’t believe he’s two-hundred damn years old and hasn’t figured that one out yet.
On a related note, I bet if I whistled “Get Happy” under my breath, he’d break a tooth.
You know, now that I think about it? Being human might be bloody great.