Dear Diary
Dear Diary,
God...that sounds so...*girly*. But...I promised Willow I'd do this, so I
will. How to start...hummm. Oh! I know...
It's Flag Day today, so I went with the gang to decorate Joyce's and Anya's
graves with little American flags. We even took our picnic baskets to Spike's
crypt to eat since he couldn't actually come out into the sunshine filled
graveyard with us to pay our respects.
He appreciated the effort, even if he just can't come out and *say* it out
loud. Well, not in so many words. He *did* mumble something about protecting
their headstones from desecration a night or so ago...so I think that counts for
Spike in the "I loved them and miss them" category.
I can understand and respect that. Spike's not talking about it, I mean.
After all, *I* don't either.
Hence, the journal.
Willow's worried about me because I won't talk about it, them...*her*. I
don't talk about it, I haven't cried over it, and I just...can't. Not yet. But,
Willow thinks that it isn't *healthy* to "bottle it all up inside" so
she bullied me into keeping a diary.
It's been a little over a month since Joyce died, three weeks since Spike was
tortured, two and a half weeks since Tara was driven insane, one week since Anya
was murdered...and three days since Glory was banished to Hell again.
It's...too soon to actually talk about it. Don't you think?
I mean...I just feel...*raw*. As if the top two layers of my skin was slowly
peeled off of my body and so every touch, even the gentlest ones, *hurt*. Colors
are too bright, noises are too loud, food is too spicy...the bed is too empty.
God, I *miss* her.
I want her *back*!
But I don't want to talk about it. Not like Willow and Buffy and Dawn. They
are hurting too, I know that and I wish that they didn't have to suffer. I
really do. But...they want to talk about it and rehash it, looking at each
detail over and over and over again. I don't. I can't. I *won't*.
That's why I've been spending time with Spike. He doesn't want to talk about
it either. Just drink some beer, watch some "telly" and slaughter the
occasional demon that is stupid enough to get in our way. It's a more
"guy-type" way of trauma/rage/depression-management I guess.
Speaking of which, I've got to go. Spike and I are going out tonight to stake
fledglings. It's fun to pretend that they look just like Glory...right as they
explode into a shower of dust.
Alexander L. Harris
That still sounds so stupid and...*girly* to me. "Dear Diary". I'd
try to come up with a new name for you...but I'm just *way* too tired to really
care.
It's been a long and strange day.
It's Father's Day. A day when all families get together and celebrate their
patriarch. And we did. The entire gang popped over to Giles and surprised him
with a small cake, a fancy tin full of his favorite tea and a sappy card that we
all signed. Even Spike. He was...touched. In that stuffy yet endearing
I'm-trying-not-to-be-emotional-while-I-polish-my-glasses-because-I'm-British way
of his.
It's not that we *don't* have fathers. Because we do. All of us...even Spike
if you want to count Angel. However, there is a big difference between insanely
abusive fathers (Tara's, Spike's and mine), neglectful absentee fathers
(Willow's, Buffy and Dawn's) and the father-figure/mentor that is always there
when you need him to be no questions asked. We actually took a vote. Rupert
Giles is *our* father. By choice. Ours.
And that was nice.
We all needed to let loose of some stress and steam in a nonviolent
non-life-threatening way. And we did.
But it wasn't what I needed the *most*. Nor was it what Spike needed the most
either. After we left, the two of us went hunting. I know that we call it
"patrolling" when we're around the others. It sounds nicer to say it
that way, but in reality...Spike and I hunt. We hunt to kill.
It's odd how watching some random demon die an agonizing death can ease the
pain of missing and yearning and craving the touch of a woman who was once one
of the most feared and powerful demons to ever live. But it does.
So...we hunt. And we kill.
And then we get drunk.
After Giles' surprise party we hunted, then we went to Willie's Alibi Bar.
Neither one of us has a very good rep there, but so what. If anyone fucks with
us, we kill them. End of problem, right? Yeah...I thought so too.
So...we head inside and we both order a double shot of cheap ass whiskey. I
also get a beer to chase it while Spike, as usual, orders a mug of O+ to chase
his. We're just done yelling at Willie to pour us more whiskey when who should
plop his fat unwanted ass on the stool next to mine?
Yep, you guessed it. My *real* father.
Or should I say *biological* father since the G-man has been more of a dad to
me then *he* ever was?
Anyway, he didn't even recognize me at first. I'm not surprised. I haven't
seen him since I moved out of the basement and Willie's wasn't his normal haunt,
so I know he didn't realize that it was *mine*. It took me a full minute to
decide *not* to just get up and walk away...leave his survival to fate. So...I
spoke to him.
I tried to tell him that he was in the most dangerous bar in the most
dangerous part of town, but he didn't listen. I really did try to warn him...so
I don't think what happened is my fault.
He insisted that if *I* was there then Willie's couldn't be *that* bad
because I was a little wuss. Then he began to bitch at me for not getting him
anything for Father's Day. So...I bought him a beer and offered Spike's and my
services to make sure he got home in one piece.
He refused.
With a sloppy drunken punch to my face.
I think it shocked him when I caught his fist in mid air before it landed and
then returned one of my own to his gut. I know it shocked *me*. I was just
reacting on instinct. And since Anya's death at Glory's hands, my instincts have
been to kill.
I'm sort of surprised that I didn't actually kill him. I almost did, in fact.
Came close to staking him, but I managed to stop myself at the last second.
However, flashing a stake around while getting violent in a demon bar is a
surefire way to start a to-the-death type of bar brawl.
Spike and I had fun. Killed lots of ugly and beautiful demons.
Dad was freaked though. So...now he knows about the *true* denizens of
Sunnydale's night life. And it *isn't* him and his drinking buddies like he'd
always thought. It's me and mine.
I think that he's afraid of me. It's a nice change.
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Well...it's official. I've written in this dumb book three times. I've
written the words "Dear Diary" with corresponding dates three times. As my
favorite blonde vampire would say...I'm such a nancy-boy.
Speaking of undead British people, if Spike ever finds this thing he'll laugh
himself into his second death. I don't have so many friends that I can afford
to loose any more...so I guess it's my duty as a "good friend" to hide my
diary from him, huh?
I know, you're thinking that my paranoia has reached new and interesting
heights, but Spike finding this journal is now a valid worry. You see...he
moved into my apartment today.
Yes. I did just write that.
William the Bloody.
Roommate.
It's *not* my fault. I swear. Okay. A little my fault. But mostly Buffy's.
And Willow's. With just a pinch of Dawn and Giles thrown in for good measure.
But mostly Buffy's. And Willow's.
Okay, okay. Fine! It's completely my fault since I could have said NO, and I
clearly didn't.
But Buffy started it, so...
Ever since Spike was tortured by Glory and he didn't crack or break or even
*hint* at Dawn's identity as the Key, well...Buffy's been a bit on the
protective side. Worried about him and secretly looking out for him. I
mean...she was seriously impressed that Spike willing suffered such extensive
pain and agony for Dawn.
And then brushed it off as no big deal. No strings attached.
Service free of charge.
So, Buffy's worried about Spike's safety and all. Living in his crypt, I
mean. No heat, no refrigeration, no electric, no plumbing...no cable for his
telly. No way to protect him from any random humans that may want to drag him
out into sunlight.
She even went so far as to compare him to *me*. Flattery in a disturbing way.
Buffy told me that she knows that when Angel went all evil and soulless that
I confronted him, stood up to him. To defend her. And that Angelus had called
me her "White Knight". Buffy said that she guessed this made Spike Dawn's
"Black Knight"...or some other romantic girly thingy.
And Willow jumped on the "move Spike into Xander's apartment" idea because
she's still worried about me and my 'not talking about it thing'. Well...it's
more like a not talking about it, nor smiling at all or laughing ever, not to
mention no more wisecracking jokes type of thing.
But that's knit-picking.
Anyhoo...she talked Spike into the whole idea by a combination of a promise
of unlimited free cable and the opportunity to watch over me and keep me
safe...from myself.
Me? I just am tired of the apartment being empty.
It's so quiet here anymore. The silence can get deafening until it's all I
hear. Until it invades every atom of my body and every corner of my mind.
Ringing, echoing, hollow silence.
But that's going to change.
Spike's here. I'm no longer alone.
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
One of these days I'm gonna come up with a better name for you than 'Diary'.
Honest. Just...not today. Too much weirdness on my mind to worry about it.
But...soon.
So...weirdness. Right.
Did you ever have one of those moments where you step back away from yourself
and just 'look'. At who you are, who your were...who you are becoming?
I did. Today in fact.
I was at work. Don't get me wrong. I love my job, and that is so not
something I thought I'd ever say, but it's true. Especially now. It's
soothing, relaxing and it's...good. Big plus, I'm good *at* it as well. See,
I go into work and I use my mind and my body and I build things. At the end
of the day I can see what I did and know that I did a good job. I don't need
anyone else to validate my reasons for being there, I can see it with my own
eyes.
And for those hours that I'm there...I'm *there*. You know? Not thinking. Not
worrying. Not slowly dying inside from missing her. It's a mini refuge for me.
And that's okay.
The only thing is...I'm different now. I'm not who I used to be. Not just on
the surface...but down deep inside where it really counts.
I never noticed. Until it was pointed out to me.
No. No one at work sat me down and held an intervention. Nothing like that.
That's a Willow thing and her intervention resulted in this journal. It
wasn't anything like that at all. I just overheard Mario talking to the new
guy. You know, giving him the tour of the site, the run down of his job, and
a heads up on all the little things he needs to know. Everyone gets that sort
of speech at the very beginning.
But this time...*I* was a part of the "tour". More specifically, I was a
"heads up" so that he would be warned in advance not to mess with me.
Mario told this...kid, really...just fresh from High School, to "step lightly
around Harris over there" and things would be fine. This struck me as odd
because I've never had any problems at work. Ever. No arguments, no fights,
nothing. So...curious, I listened in.
It seems that while I have an excellent reputation for quality work and
putting in long hard hours that I've also, and much more recently, gained a
rep as a time bomb with an itchy trigger finger. Mario gave the kid an
abbreviated version of Anya's death and then told the new guy that I went
from being a cheerful friendly person to one who rarely spoke. He also told
the kid that I had been spotted around town on several occasions engaging in
fist fights. Apparently someone had seen me and Spike hunting demons, put two
and two together and got five.
To be honest, it didn't really bother me to know that the guys on the crew
see me as a bit dangerous, but it did make me think.
When I was a kid...that new guy's age even, I wasn't like this. Time and
events change a person. Molding them, shaping them...slicing away the things
that aren't necessary. Some events add to you, making you more than you were
before...while others peel away at the topmost layers. Sort of like an onion.
Until you are nothing but the raw core of yourself.
So much time has gone by and so many events have happened to me since I was
that young kid. Now...when I look in the mirror I can barely recognize
myself. I'm someone completely new...and I'm still changing. In a few months,
I'll be a whole other person once again.
Some people have to work hard to reinvent themselves. Me...I just have to
keep waking up every morning. Maybe those people should try vacationing on
the Hellmouth or something.
Anyway, I was thinking about who I had once been. Happier, certainly. But a
lot less confident in myself and my strengths. My priorities were different
back then too. At that point in my life I was obsessed with proving myself
and with pleasing others. Making them proud of me.
Now...I don't have anything left to prove. I survived it all. I know that one
day the Hellmouth will kill me and I'm fine with that. But I also know that I
will take a chunk of it with me when I go. I know my strengths and my
weaknesses and I know how to use both to my best advantage.
And to be perfectly honest...I don't really care about whether or not I
please anyone. The only one I want to make happy is dead and buried.
So...I find myself staying quiet and holding a bit of myself back from
everyone. Not because I'm afraid of hurting anyone's feelings by actually
saying what's on my mind...but because that would lead to complications I
just don't care enough about to deal with. I offer up shaky half-smiles when
it's called for and just agree with the majority to keep the status quo.
People stay off my case and don't look too hard at what I really feel and
what I chose to do with my spare time. I like it that way.
The real question is...the only one that causes a little nagging voice of
doubt inside my brain is this. What does it say about me that the only person
I feel I can truly be myself around is a bleached blonde, punked out,
soulless demon who would rather be killing humans?
If I'm already at the point where the only being I can *honestly* relate to
anymore is *Spike*...who, or what, am I gonna be in a few months?
And without Anya by my side, does it even matter?
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Well, Diary...today was another first. Again. Today was the first
Independence Day since Anya died.
The whole gang got together at Buffy's house for a BBQ. It was sort of
awkward and sort of good at the same time. I mean, it was comforting to be
around a bunch of people who knew the truth, ya know? I guess it was more of
a relief than I realized to not have to pretend that I was angry at some
nameless hit and run driver. Instead, I could...I don't know, share time with
people who had been there. Had *seen* Anya die at Glory's hands.
And this will sound horrible...but it was also comforting to know that they
had been hurt too.
Not that I want them to suffer, because I don't. It's just that the sympathy
was *real* and the dark look hidden in their eyes matched the haunted
emptiness in mine. I hate fake sympathy and pretend understanding...almost as
much as the pity of outsiders.
This was different though. This was my family...or what's left of it.
Anyway, we cooked up some dead animals dripping smoked hickory sauce and
Buffy made potato salad and Willow made this great fruit mix thing. Very
tasty. I got to work the grill and I did an excellent job of it, if I do say
so myself.
Spike couldn't go outside, but he and Dawn set up this long table in the
kitchen buffet style for the food and drinks and they got in some quality
bonding time. Dawn loved every second of it...I think Spike did too.
It was...nice.
Then after it got dark, we all made our way to Miller's Pond where the town
of Sunnydale was holding their annual July Fourth Fireworks Extravaganza.
Giles and Spike both grumbled about being forcing to celebrate the
"Colonist's Revolt Against the Crown", but I think it was just a bunch of, as
Willow put it, "caplooy".
The display was beautiful.
At one point I was so entranced and content that I forgot and turned to point
something out to Anya. She wasn't there and I just wanted to crumble into a
ball of misery and die.
Spike was there though, and for one heart wrenching second I thought he was
going to smirk and say something crass, but he didn't. He just reached into a
deep inside pocket of his ever-present duster and pulled out a silver flask,
shook it once, and then passed it over to me.
Two strong pulls of Sour Mash later and I went from wanting to die on the
spot to wanting to go kill something. I was about to suggest we take off and
go hunting, but luck is sometimes a perverse thing.
It was about that time that Buffy spotted a big ugly Gromath Demon and a
large nest of minions and fledges that were apparently following it's lead.
They had gotten the bright idea to use the fireworks to start a large fire as
a distraction. Then when everyone was dashing about in confusion, they
planned to grab as many people as they could to turn into vamps and build up
their army. This Gromath Demon had ambition, I'll give it that.
So, being the good little Scoobies that we are, we helped Buffy take out the
vamps while she tackled the Gromath Demon. Once more, during the heat of
battle, that familiar insanity descended upon me. Those vamp's faces shifted
and changed. Some became Glory's demonic henchmen...some had the distinct
honor to become Glory herself. I staked every one that came near me in a
towering fit of anger and pain.
When the dust literally settled to the ground, I found myself surrounded by
my friends. They were all staring at me with varying degrees of shock and
worry etched on their faces. Only Spike seemed unconcerned. At the time, I
shrugged it off and ignored it. I merely turned to Spike and asked him if he
was up for "patrol". He said sure and off we went, leaving Giles and the
girls behind.
It's only now that I'm home and growing calm once again that I realize why
they were so stunned back at Miller's Pond. It was the violence. *My*
violence. I'm not the same old Xander anymore.
And now they know it too.
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Guess what? I'm an insensitive asshole. Big surprise there, right?
How long has Spike been living in my apartment now? Seriously. How long has
he been sleeping on the fold out bed-couch thing in my living room, storing
his clothes in my hall closet and his blood-bags and beer in my refrigerator?
Two weeks. Sixteen days to be exact.
And in all of that time did I *ever once* consider that he was in pain?
Grieving? Confused?
Nope. Not me. I'm Xander the self-centered angst-master. Too busy looking
inside of my own skull to look around and see what's been right in front of
my nose all along.
I'm so stupid.
This whole mess is really my own fault. I didn't see...and at first, I admit
it, I *refused* to see. And afterwards, I was sunk in my own misery and
despair, so I *couldn't* see it. But now? Well, I had it thrown in my face
loud and clear and there is no denying that it's real. Spike's grief that is.
See, I went shopping. No biggie, right? I mean, the pantry was looking pretty
bare. And let's be honest, take-out is expensive after a while.
So...shopping. Grabbed some soap and stuff. Some bread and lunch meat, some
frozen dinner things, some cans of soup, cereal and a half gallon of
milk...and a box of hot chocolate mix with those little mini-marshmallows in
it.
When I got back to the apartment, I guess my banging around in the kitchen
putting stuff away woke up Spike. Not surprising, he was right there sleeping
on the pullout bed in the living room. Anyway, he stumbled into the kitchen
all sleepy and grumbling and went to the fridge to grab a bag of blood when
he stopped by the microwave and just sort of stared at it.
Then he started shaking real hard. All over body trembles. Curious, and just
a touch worried, I went over to see what was wrong with the microwave. Turns
out it wasn't the microwave that was bothering him. It was the box of hot
chocolate mix.
By dumb luck I had grabbed the exact same brand that Joyce favored.
Pinkish tears started to drip down Spike's cheek and he began this babbling
rant about Joyce, late night chats over cocoa and trying to learn how to live
in an alien world with a handicap. A lot of it didn't make too much sense,
but I got the general gist that Joyce was the only one of us who would listen
to Spike rant and rave when things got too much. When the depression over the
chip was too high or when he was baffled by the way the humans around him
acted, he would go to her, she made him hot chocolate and they talked.
And all I could think was that when Joyce first died I had accused him of
using her death as an excuse to get close to Buffy...when all along, he had
been mourning the death of his best, and possibly *only*, friend. And now?
Now I had just unwittingly poured salt into an open wound.
So, I did the only thing I could think of to do. I made sure the milk was in
the fridge so it wouldn't spoil, made up two cups of hot chocolate and then
sat him down and let him babble at me. He's almost as good at it as
Willow...although I'm pretty sure her rants never included ripping the heads
off of people. But that's okay, I can now understand and empathize with that
particular desire.
Then, after he had calmed to the point of being semi-rational, I suggested we
go out and hunt. Luckily, by then, the sun was beginning to set. So, we
changed and armed ourselves and went out. We hunted. Then, we got drunk and
toasted Joyce all night long.
It was a good bonding experience for us I'm sure, but I can't help but feel
like I should have known. *Before* Spike had an emotional meltdown in the
middle of the kitchen. I should have realized *sometime* between Joyce's
death and tonight that Spike had real feelings for her that had *nothing* to
do with either Buffy or Dawn.
But I didn't and Spike suffered because of it.
Well, no more. This I promise. I'm going to open my eyes and I'm going to
*see* what's in front of me from now on. I have no excuse to turn a blind eye
to anything or anyone. Besides, I doubt that anything I learn could hurt me
half as much as losing Anya did, so I really do have nothing to lose from
being aware. However, I could end up losing the guy who's slowly turning into
my best friend if I don't.
Wait? Did I just write that Spike's becoming my *best* friend?
Yeah...I guess I did. Well...what do you know. Funny thing is...I think that
statement is true.
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Well, it's been a week since Spike's internal meltdown and subsequent
freakage over hot cocoa with mini-marshmallows. After I helped put the broken
pieces of Spike's emotions back together, I made a promise to you Diary.
Well...to you and *myself*.
A promise to get to *know* Spike. Really know him.
So for this past week I have been watching him. Just observing. And I've
noticed lots of things. Things that were there all along, but had never stood
out in my mind. Never really caught my attention long enough to stick in my
memory.
Which is sort of weird in a way, because it's all in the details. And I *do*
know details about Spike that no one else in the Scooby Gang knows. However,
until this past week, those details revolved around only two things.
Fighting. And drinking.
Because that's the only time I ever paid any attention.
I know all the little signs and signals that mean Spike is winning a fight,
losing a fight, enjoying a fight, or simply enraged beyond true thought. And
he doesn't have to say a word for me to hear all of this. I can recognize the
way his eyes shimmer golden when the bloodlust in high and I know that he
presses his lips tightly together when his anger is cold and cruel.
He walks with a slight crouch and with all of his heightened senses scanning
the surrounding area when we hunt and I will never be able to misunderstand
that slight pause and brief grin of fierce unholy joy that signals he has
finally found our prey. Nor could I ever miss the tightening of his shoulder
muscles or the clenching of his jaw as he steps unconsciously closer to me
whenever we run across some belligerent humans. Humans he is defenseless
against.
I can tell when he is drinking just to pass out by the way his seemingly
endless stream of sarcasm and nasty barbs suddenly stop only to be replaced
by an intense and angry silence. Just as I know when the drinking is only a
way to loosen stiff muscles and relax...a way to try to make his life feel
normal once again.
These things I picked up easily and quickly. They aren't personal. I saw
these signals continuously repeated over the last month we've been hunting
together and to be honest, learning to read Spike's body language on the hunt
was a necessity to success and survival.
But over the past week I've learned new stuff. Different stuff. Normal
everyday people stuff. Stuff that I would have never even considered to
associate with the 'Big Bad'. Before.
For instance, Spike is practically obsessive-compulsive about brushing his
teeth. I know, you're wondering how I could have missed something like that
with him living here, right? Well. It never occurred to me to find out why he
spent so much time in the bathroom before last weekend. I simply didn't care
as long as he didn't mess it up and it was free when *I* needed it.
This week I made an effort to find out. And I did. He goes in there and
brushes his teeth. In full gameface.
Yeah. I know. It *is* funny in a way. But it's true nonetheless. When he
first wakes up he heads straight for the kitchen and heats up some blood for
himself to eat. Then...he brushes his teeth. No biggie. Right? Just good oral
hygiene, I know. But that's not the end of it.
He brushes those fangs of his a minimum of four times a night...with a
maximum count so far of eight. He even carries a travel toothbrush and a mini
tube of toothpaste in one of his duster pockets. I don't really know why he
does it, although I'm half tempted to ask. I haven't though because I'm
afraid I'll get a Drusilla-type of answer.
Another of Spike's little quirks in that he's a closet Lego freak.
Who would have guessed, right? Not me, that's for sure. I think he was trying
to keep it from me. You know, a guilty pleasure type of secret. And it would
have worked if I hadn't started to actually pay attention.
See, Spike uses the hall closet to store his stuff. The one in my bedroom is
big enough that I can fit all of my jackets and things in there, so that
gives Spike more room, however, I do use *some* of the space in the hall
closet. Specifically, the floor. I keep my tool chest in there. After work, I
stick it there and then grab it before I leave again in the morning. The rest
of the shelves hold Spike's stuff. His clothes, his boots, various boxes and
books and whatnot.
So, Spike was out getting some more beer from the liquor store and some blood
from the butchers when I got a call from Giles. A group of students from the
new and improved Sunnydale High stopped by to visit Dawn and two of the boys
got into a shoving match over who liked her best. The result was two split
lips, one black eye, a gushing and enchanted young teen, a pissed off and
overly protective Slayer, a handful of singed eyebrows from a Ripper inspired
spur-of-the-moment spell...and a broken display case.
I promised I'd grab my tools and head over to fix the mess. While standing
there with the door open, I noticed a large giftbox on one of the higher
shelves. No. I *wasn't* snooping in Spike's things. Honest. It was just that
the box was half hanging off the shelf and looked like it was ready to fall.
I was *going* to just push it back into place, grab my tools and go. Really.
But, I just wanted *one* little peek.
So, I pulled it down, lifted the lid...and gasped in delighted shock. It was
full of Legos.
Some of them were already put together to create various things. A car. A
helicopter. A boat of some sort. There were little Lego Men and a bunch of
those fancy special shaped pieces you get from the filler sets. It was
amazing. Almost as nice a set of Lego's as mine, actually. And it had been a
while since I had taken them out and played with them. Since before Anya had
died.
So, with a smile, I put them away and went off to fix Giles' display case,
promised Buffy I would pull the 'big brother' act on those two boys who had
caused such havoc over Dawn and give them the 'don't mess with my kid sister'
version of the shovel lecture. When I asked why Buffy didn't do it, she said
that she thought it would make a bigger impression if the boys got it from a
guy. Which made sense...if you didn't know that Buffy could kick my ass in a
heartbeat.
When I got home Spike was there. Feeling good after scaring two kids that
reminded me strongly of the bullies that had picked on me all throughout my
own High School career, I didn't even hesitate to act. I went into my room,
grabbed the large canvas bag that contained almost two decades worth of
devoted fanaticism and headed back out to the living room. Upending the bad
on the floor, brightly colored Legos spilling everywhere, I merely turned a
smiling face at Spike, told him to go grab *his* Legos and come back and
'play'.
We built a *huge* space station that night. Two nights later we built the
rocket ships to go with it. It was lots of fun. We bonded.
And today? Today I learned something about Spike that no one else on the
planet knows. Well...maybe Dru, but even then I'm not sure.
Spike is afraid of electric vacuum cleaners.
What was that Diary? How did I find out this interesting...and yeah,
hilarious bit of information about my undead best friend and roommate? It's
simple...and all his own fault.
Spike smokes. Constantly. He's a classic chain smoker and as such, he tends
to fill up the few ashtrays we have really fast. He also never remembers to
empty them. Today, the bleached one managed to knock an overflowing ashtray
off of the coffee table and onto the floor. Ash and cigarette butts went
everywhere.
Now, I have one of those fifty's style push brooms with the spinning bristle
brush and the two collection bins. It works great on the larger stuff. Lint
balls, dust bunnies, clumps of dirt...and incidentally, cigarette butts.
However, it didn't pick up the fine ash at all. It just spread it a bit.
I bought it instead of an electric 'suction' one because it was twenty
dollars as opposed to a hundred and twenty dollars. Besides, I knew that it
would be fine for the day to day cleanup and if I ever *did* need an electric
one, I could always borrow Buffy's. No biggie.
So I did. Borrow Buffy's electric vacuum cleaner, that is. To pick up the ash.
I awkwardly manhandled it into the apartment, plugged it in, moved the coffee
table and couch out of the way...then turned it on. In a blurring rush of
bleached blonde hair, glowing golden eyes and snarling fangs, my undead
roommate rushed out of the bathroom with foamy toothpaste dripping down his
chin to make him appear to be a rabid vampire.
Apparently, the noise of the vacuum starting up had startled him badly and he
came running to see what type of demon had broken into our apartment and was
ripping me into little quivering chunks. However, when he saw that I was
standing there and simply vacuuming the floor, he reacted in a way that made
me simultaneously want to comfort him...and laugh my ass off.
Spike, William the Bloody, one-fourth of the Scourge of Europe, shrieked like
a girl, back-peddled against the wall with a look of stark terror on his face
and *whimpered* at me to "make it go away".
Now, I know I can be extremely cruel when it comes to demons...but there are
two that have the power to turn my insides to mush when they are scared of
stupid harmless things. One of them is dead now...but that didn't stop me
from getting all protective. It was just like watching Anya, an inhumanly
cruel and viscous Vengeance Demon, fall to pieces over fuzzy stuffed toy
bunny-rabbits.
So, I did the only thing I could do. I turned the silly thing off, unplugged
it and pushed it out into the apartment complex's hallway. Then, I turned
back to Spike, wrapped him in a comforting hug and led him gently back into
the bathroom, squeezed fresh toothpaste onto his dripping toothbrush and told
him to finish cleaning his teeth, that it would make him feel better.
Spike didn't threaten to hurt me if I told the gang about what had happened.
And that's okay...I'm not going to tell them anyway. Just you Diary. Because,
even though I *know* that the gang would love that little fact, they'd also
use it to tease and humiliate him...and you won't.
What can I say? He's my best friend and best friend's protect each other. Not
just from demons and bad guys...they also protect each other's dignity.
So mum's the word on the scary vacuum cleaner. Okay?
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Part of me wants to tell you about the truly awesome fight that Spike and I
got into tonight down near the warehouse district. It was exciting and we
both had a great time. We surprised a small nest of fledglings that
apparently didn't get the memo not to fuck with us. So, like the remarkably
stupid creatures minions are, they attacked us. It was the last dumb mistake
they will ever make.
I love staking vamps. Well...non-Spike vamps, but you knew that, right Diary?
Anyhoo...we had a blast. It was a beautiful star-filled night, warm with a
light breeze. Spike and I enjoyed a witty and bantering conversation about
nothing in particular, I got a good workout. Vampire dust rained from the
sky. It was perfect...or would have been if Spike's shirt hadn't of gotten
ripped by the last minion he killed.
And that's what I really want to talk about. Not Spike's ruined shirt in
specific, but his "stuff" in general. Or rather...his *lack* of stuff.
Now, I know I don't have a lot of stuff myself. I simply don't have the kind
of money to spend on everything I really want or need, but at least *I* can
fill up a small apartment with my things. Or close to it. But Spike? He has
*one* tiny little hall closet to hold his stuff. And there is *still* room
for my tools. And as a professional carpenter, I gotta tell you, I have quite
a few tools.
Spike doesn't need much from the kitchen, I got that. One shelf in the
refrigerator for his beer and his blood, and one shelf in one cabinet holds
his hard liquor and wheat-a-bix. The hall closet holds everything else. His
*two*, yes count them: one - two, sets of clothes, his boots, his Legos, a
few CD's and a few small shoes boxes of mementos. He's also got a few books
too. Not many, but they *are* old and probably would make Giles drool for a
while.
Still, that's *not* a lot.
So, I have been watching him to get to know him and understand him and it
sort of hits me out of the blue. Spike owns practically *nothing*. I know
what you're thinking Diary, neither do any of the minions we go out hunting
almost every night. That's not the same though...Spike's *not* a minion. He's
a Master Vampire. Like Angel.
And we *all* know that Angel has more possessions than the L.A. Museum of
History and Art.
I mean, Angel owns property all over the world, he has numerous storage
houses just filled to the brim with clothes, furniture, weapons, etc. He only
uses his current "favorites" to decorate his current home. As for the books
and weapons in his home, he stocks what he thinks will be most helpful and
then he goes to get what he needs from storage if it becomes relevant. I've
known this for years.
But Spike? Nada.
At first, I just sort of blew it off as Harmony habitually setting all his
belongings on fire. But that doesn't really explain it. He *couldn't* have
stored all of his things in the crypt. Hell, he's had over a century to
collect stuff.
So, on Tuesday I plied him with whiskey. I used the excuse that he'd gotten
sliced up pretty bad in our nightly adventure and that the alcohol would dim
the pain as I stitched his back up, and I just kept pouring. Spike likes to
ramble on when he's been drinking, so...I managed to get the story out of him.
Dru's got all of his things. She may very well be the craziest person on the
face of the planet, but she's *not* stupid. After they split up, Dru had all
of their things moved out of where ever they *were* stored to someplace else.
Spike has no clue where. She took, not only her own things...but his as well.
She also had all of the money that had been in their various bank accounts
transferred to new ones. Accounts Spike doesn't have access to. So he has
none of his hard-earned money and Spike can't even sell his antique crap to
get more money to pay some disreputable Doctor to remove his chip. He's
effectively bankrupt.
And living in my apartment and sleeping on my couch.
I've spent the last couple of days thinking about this. I mean, it's just
such a strange kind of thought, ya know? It's not something I'd ever
considered before. Maybe it's because I suddenly find myself having bills to
pay this past year. I mean, besides "rent" to my parents. I buy my own food,
plus Spike's blood. I pay the rent on the new apartment, not to mention the
electric, the water, the phone, and for garbage removal. I have a car,
granted, it's not the newest model or the fastest, but it's *mine* and it
runs good. I paid for it all on my own and I pay the insurance and buy the
gas. So, money has become a more important thing in my life and I'm more
aware of it.
And Spike has none.
I've never considered how he survived without money. I always assumed that he
did okay with what he could bribe out of Giles...but now I know how little
that will actually buy. And none of us Scoobies ever questioned where Angel's
money came from, we just accepted it without question. It never even occurred
to us that Spike *should*, by all rights, be in the same situation as Angel.
It's not only *that* though. When Spike and Dru first came to Sunnydale, he
was a Master Vampire and he held all the trappings of that station in unlife
with an iron fist. He had a large defensible lair filled with minions and
warriors and guards. He had power and respect and the fear of the community
all scrambling at his feet.
Then, his world crumbled around him. First Dru left him and took all of their
personal possessions and wealth with her. Then, he got chipped and lost his
ability to hunt down and kill, what is essentially for him, his food.
Now he has me and the rest of the Scoobies. Not that we don't accept him as
one of us, because we *do*, but we don't treat him as our lord and liege.
Because he's not.
And that's a big change. I sometimes wonder how he survived this turn of bad
fortune with his mind in tact.
So, I've decided to do something about it. Granted, I don't have much, but
what I do have he pretty much has open access to. After all, he lives here.
But I want to do more. Let him have back a little of the dignity that Dru and
the Initiative stripped from him. I mean, I know he projects this image of
being the Big Bad and not needing anything, but I know better. He's a
sensualist at heart. And he shouldn't have to live like a minion. 'Cause he
*isn't* one...and he never was.
Anyhoo...today after work, I swung by to the local discount superstore. It's
this big monster place called AIMES and everything there is pretty much cheap
enough that I can afford to shop there. I picked up a pack of three t-shirts
in Spike's size. It had a black one, a navy blue one and a bright red one.
Which is good, cause after tonight's escapade, he's gonna need them. I also
picked up a new pillow and a light fleecy blanket for him. The knitted afghan
that he's been using is tattered and falling apart.
When I got home, I just casually tossed the bags of stuff at him. He tried to
act like it didn't matter or that he didn't care. Indifferent. But he was
touched...I could tell. It made me wonder how long it had been since someone
had done something nice for him. And then it hit me. No one had done
*anything* nice for Spike since Joyce died because she was the only one of us
who *ever* was nice to him.
That thought made me sad.
I'm going to have to remember to do more nice things for Spike. I get paid
tomorrow...maybe I'll go out and get him some more stuff. I know he could use
a few more pairs of jeans and some socks...the kind *without* holes in them.
And maybe a new Lego filler set?
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
I think I fucked up. I'm not sure...but I think I did. Although, it's not
really my fault. Well, it is, but...
It all started at work today. I know that it's Monday and Monday's are
*supposed* to suck...but this particular Monday took it to extremes. You see,
my car got vandalized out at the job site. Granted, mine wasn't the only one,
but still...
See, our company was hired by the City of Sunnydale to, ironically enough,
fix a lot of the damage which was caused when the portal opened from Dawn's
blood. It's steady work with great pay and excellent benefits...I'd rather
have Tara sane and Anya alive again...but I'm not gonna go there.
So...work.
The site is at that point in it's reconstruction that we are done with the
outside and are now concentrating on the inside. Electrical, woodworking,
sheet-rock work...etc. And all the guys leave their cars parked outside
(obviously) in the lot down the corner. No biggie usually.
Today is *was* a big deal. Around five of us had our cars vandalized. The
cops think it was done by some highschool kids that are out of classes for
the summer. I wonder, however. I know it wasn't vampires...it being all sunny
and daylight out when it happened, but...kids? Or am I being paranoid?
Well, who ever did it, they did it good. All of us lost our radios, various
stuff that we had thrown inside of it and we all got our tires slashed.
Sucks, huh?
Mario, the site foreman...at least for the carpentry department, offered to
give me a ride. He already takes his brother-in-law Tony to and from work, so
he said it wouldn't be a problem to swing by my place. I agreed.
Mario's such a great guy though, and he made sure our first stop was at
Sunnydale Automotive Supply and Repair. I was able to pick up four new tires.
Which was good, since I suddenly needed them. It puts a huge crimp in my
plans to try and spoil Spike though. I already got him a package of socks and
a small Lego kit, but new jeans will have to wait until *next* week. I just
can't afford them, what with buying four new tires.
So, after the shopping expedition, the guys took me home. Some bizarre part
of my brain spoke up before I thought things through completely and decided
that I had to be nice and sociable to Mario and Tony for being pals about
carting my ass all over town. This insane chunk of my brain invited them up
to my apartment for a couple of beers. It wasn't until I was unlocking my
front door to let them in that my brain remembered the blonde demon that
lived with me.
Needless to say, Spike was snarky, rude, antisocial and dangerously
psychotic. I know this because Mario pointed it out to me. I didn't even
notice at first...I guess I'm just used to Spike being...well, a soulless
demon is the most accurate description, I suppose.
When I told him about the car, Spike waxed eloquent about the "wanking
tossers who bloody well need a good killing" and did I know who did it so
that we could "have Red turn 'em bleeding inside-out so's that we can play
with their innards? Can we pet...*please*?" I think Spike scared Mario and
Tony just a tad. I think that fact that I laughed at Spike's idea scared them
even more.
Still, the evening wasn't a *complete* disaster. Spike had somehow managed to
"nick a few quid" off of Giles the last time we were at the Magic Box...even
though I would have *sworn* that Spike didn't go *near* the cash register.
So, he used his money to buy us pizza as a "thanks" to Mario and Tony for
being "mates" and bringing me home with new tires.
The four of us had lots of beer, and everyone but Spike chowed down on pizza.
It was...pleasant.
Until about nine o'clock when Spike decided that it was time to go hunting.
Ya know, it didn't even occur to me that us gearing up was probably something
that Mario and Tony shouldn't have seen? So, like idiots, we got ready for a
"night on the town" with them watching us as we changed into dark clothing
and armed ourselves with stakes, knives, holy water-guns and a pair of stolen
and refitted tazars.
We walked Mario and Tony down to Mario's car and thanked them for their help
and started to head off. Mario tried to warn us that Sunnydale was dangerous
at night and I sort of chuckled at him and told him that we *knew* that...and
*that* was part of the fun.
I think I may have come across as demented.
So, that's the thought that hit me as Spike and I were heading home from an
exciting night of hunting up minions and demons to kill. My boss probably
thinks that Spike and I are some type of psycho killers. Which is true I
guess...especially Spike. But I didn't exactly want the guys I work with to
realize just how fucked up my life really is.
I wonder what kind of reception I'm going to get tomorrow? Mario and Tony are
supposed to swing by and pick me up and take me and my new tires in...
Should be interesting.
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Ya know what? I just can't avoid the weirdness factor. I think it purposely
seeks me out...just to mess with my head.
What do I mean, you ask? I'll tell you.
Tonight, Spike and I hosted a sort of "Scoobie Movie Night Extravaganza" and
it was of the good. Mostly.
It started out well enough anyway. Everyone showed up sometime between eight
and eight thirty and we did the whole "dinner" thing. I had a blast too. At
least, I did during the first half of the night. The second half was spent
with me flip-flopping from paranoid to introspective and back again. But
anyway, here's what happened...
Buffy was wearing this blue velvety type shirt and the texture caught Tara's
attention in a big way. The blonde ex-witch kept following the Buffinator
around so that she could try and pet her "fuzzy...so fuzzy". It was charming
in a sad sort of way.
Dawn was thrilled to spend time with Spike. She always is. And he, in turn,
adores his "little nibblet". She regaled him with an endless stream of
stories about her and her girlfriends from highschool...detailing their many
"Mall" adventures.
My job was to entertain Giles and keep an eye on Tara while Buffy and Willow
threw together a quick chicken type dinner. It was really good too. And
things went a lot smoother once I distracted Tara from Buffy's shirt with my
Legos. When the food was done, we ate and then I popped in the movie that
Willow had rented.
It was...unashamedly girly. Neither Spike nor I had any interest in it
whatsoever. After a stunning display of patience...in which Spike actually
sat through the first twenty minutes waiting for the violent parts, the
bleached demon abandoned me to my fate. Of watching the girliest girly movie
ever made. The jerk.
In desperation to escape it, I eventually wandered off into the
kitchen...since Spike had taken refuge in the bathroom. I hope he choked on
his toothbrush.
That's when it happened. When sweet little innocent Dawn managed to turn my
world upside-down and inside-out...with one half giggled question. I was just
about to head back out to the living room, fresh beer in hand, when I
overheard her high pitched voice address Buffy and Willow.
"So...do you think that Spike *still* sleeps out here on the couch...or do
you think he's sharing blankets with Xander? I bet they look hot
together...all naked and sweaty."
I heard the combined voices of Buffy, Willow and Giles all shout "Dawn!"
before my brain shut down. Coming to a complete stop, I slowly worked my mind
around just *what* she was implying. The thought hit me like a brick.
My friends think that I am having SEX with *Spike*.
Hot sweaty monkey type sex, at that.
I think I sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen counter...but I'm not
sure, so don't hold me to that. I am fairly certain that I was experiencing a
mild form of shock, however. I mean...I'd never even *considered* something
of that nature with the vampire. Yes, he was...and still is, my best friend.
Yeah, there's Willow, I know...but she was my best friend when we were
kids...and I'm not a kid anymore. You know what I mean? But sex? With Spike?
How could they think that?
Okay, yeah sure...he *lives* here with me, but so what. Right? And yeah, we
spend most of our "free" time together. And I pay all the bills. For our rent
and his blood and cigarettes and booze, but that's only fair. After all, he
cleans the apartment. He does my dishes and once I taught him *how* to do
laundry without ruining everything, he started to take care of that too.
Which is fine, since our building has a laundry room in the basement and he
can get there without risking the sunlight...even at high noon. Okay, so I
try to buy him gifts when I can...but that's just recent and they don't know
about *that*.
Do we *really* seem like some "couple"?
And...even if we *do* to strangers or what not...these guys are my *friends*
and they think we're doing naked things together. They didn't seem upset at
the thought, so no lecture. That's of the good, but still...
Oh shit!
Does this mean that the guys at work, specifically Mario and Tony, think that
Spike and I are an "us"? I mean, they know he *lives* here...and that the
apartment has only *one* bedroom and... Ahhh *fuck*. They *do*, don't they?
So, everyone thinks I'm suddenly gay now? Well, at least no one had given me
shit about it. I still remember how terrified Larry had been about what kind
of reaction he'd get for "coming out" as gay. It had made him act like a
major asshole for *years*. So, the fact that no one has gotten in my face
about "being gay" is of the good.
Oh my...I just realized something.
I've been freaking out since Dawn opened her big mouth about this a few hours
ago. That's true. But in all that time, it never once occurred to me to be
upset at the *idea* of being in a relationship with Spike...only that people
thought I was "gay". But the "Spike" part of the equation never once really
upset me. After all, I am proud to call him my best friend...and that's a
relationship of sorts. Without the naked part.
What does that mean?
Why did my brain focus on "oh my...they think I'm gay, how will they react?"
and not "oh my...they think I'm attached to a demon, how could they?"
And when I stop and actually *think* about it, I guess it's because the demon
part and the Spike part aren't such a shocker for me, at least on *some*
level...but, what does that *mean*?
I think maybe I have some soul-searching to do.
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Well Diary, I promised you that I would do some soul-searching...and I did.
That's not something that is easy for me to do. There are too many landmines
inside my head to make it a pleasant journey. One wrong step and BAM! mental
agony and choking emotions flood through me for the rest of the day,
week...month. Depends on the memory touched.
This is different though. I realized pretty quickly that the whole subject of
everyone I know thinking that Spike and I are a couple was more confusing
than anything else. Confusing in that I had no idea what to think or how to
feel about it.
I was a little scared, a little upset, a little nervous, a little
startled...and most disconcerting of all, a little intrigued.
*That's* what convinced me that I needed to do the whole soul-searching
thing...despite the mental landmines buried in my psyche. That tiny tendril
of curiousity. Like a sliver of want that I didn't even know was inside me
suddenly uncurled deep in my mind.
So... soul-searching.
It's weird, ya know. Now that I've actually laid down across my bed at night
and contemplated Spike while watching the shadows drift across my bedroom
ceiling, I can honestly say that our 'relationship' has changed
*dramatically* from...Before. Not just in the way that we relate to each
other, but also in the way that I see him.
Before...I don't think I really saw him at all. He was just this guy. This
annoying, dangerous and unrepentantly evil guy...who I had no choice but to
put up with on occasion. And I didn't even bother to get to know him.
Honestly, I didn't want to. I had no desire or interest to know anything
about him on a personal level.
Then...After...well, he was one of the few people I could stand to even be
around. He didn't push about my feelings or thoughts or anything
personal...so he was 'safe' in a way. And yet, he was someone who *knew* what
had happened, so in that, I *wasn't* alone...physically *or* emotionally.
Because neither of us talked about IT didn't mean IT didn't effect us or hurt
us.
So...we became each other's distraction. Mutually acceptable. The fact that
the girls approved...for a variety of reasons, made it convenient.
There were lots of nights spent hunting down demons and ripping them to
pieces...and little by little our mutual and individual anger began to dim.
Then, at the insistence of the girls, we became roomies. And somewhere along
the line, Spike went from being someone that I could stand to spend time with
to someone I *wanted* to spend time with. I had come to *enjoy* his company.
His biting humor, which can easily turn morbid and black, tends to suit my
frame of mind. Often I'm the only one who can even *get* his jokes...let
alone find them funny.
I also appreciate his stark realism, the brutal honesty with which he views
the world around him. I'm *far* too jaded and cynical anymore to have
anything but disdain for people who refuse to open up their eyes and see
what's out there in the dark waiting to bite you on the ass...no matter *how*
scary that thing in the dark is. It's better to know what's going to kill you
and to go down fighting and spitting and cursing up a storm than to sit back
with your eyes closed and humming top forty tunes. Spike couldn't close his
eyes to the world even if he wanted to...fighting back is too deeply
ingrained in his very being to walk away from danger. I like that.
The irony of that, is that despite the harsh and often painful truth that he
inflicts upon himself, he's a champion liar. Shameless too. There have been
many times when I've nearly bitten through my tongue to keep from bursting
out in ribald laughter after he's let loose with one of his ingenious
fabrications.
I know...lying is of the bad and I shouldn't consider that one of Spike's
positive points, but it *is* funny to watch people get sucked up into his
stories. He winds them up...and then sits back to watch them spin. It really
is amusing...especially since he *can't* do it to me. You see, I *know* when
he's lying. His left eyebrow lifts just slightly and he gets the tiniest
indication of dimples in his cheeks...most likely from suppressing a grin.
It *really* sets him off when he tries to spin me a yarn and I catch him at
it red-handed. Maybe someday I'll tell him how I can always tell when he's
lying. Naw...
The most recent addition to my mental collection of reasons to like Spike is
his quiet and understated vulnerability. That might sound kinda dumb, but
it's true. He *is* vulnerable in ways that are staggering to even
contemplate. Let's face it, he can rip a ten foot tall Kelnor Demon into itty
bitty slimy slivers, but put him in a dark alley with a handful...or even
*one* drunken human with a bad attitude and he's the vampire equivalent of
toast.
If I didn't buy him bagged blood he would starve. Because he *can't* hunt
down food.
If *that's* not vulnerable, I don't know what is. I try to imagine what it
must be like. The closest I can come to is that everytime I try to enter the
supermarket or a restaurant that I am practically knocked unconscious from an
instant killer migraine...so I'm left outside staring through the huge floor
to ceiling windows to gaze longingly at the rows upon rows of food. Drooling
and starving.
I don't think I could live like that and stay sane.
But I won't let him starve. Ever. I try to make sure there is always blood in
the apartment. I get the pig and cows blood from the butcher's shop on a
fairly regular basis. And whenever I have a bit of spare cash I try and get
human blood from Willie's, but that's too expensive to do often.
But if I could afford it, I'd do it all the time. Because after all that's
said and done, Spike *is* my best friend and I don't want to see him
suffering. And somewhere in all this soul-searching that I've been doing I
realized that yes, he is not just my best friend...because I *do* love him.
And I can admit that...even if it's only to myself.
I, Alexander Harris, love Spike, aka William the Bloody.
The only thing I hadn't figured out was if I could love him *physically*. I
mean, there *is* a big difference from loving someone as a best friend or
even a pseudo-brother...or even a hunting partner who casually and
continuously places his safety and life in the other's hands, than there is
from having an intimate sexual and romantic relationship with that same
someone.
So, that was the big question of the day. Could I have sex with Spike?
I honestly didn't know, and I figured that it would ruin everything we
*already* have if I were to walk up to him, say 'Let's go bump uglies' and
then find out that it gives me the wiggin's and nothing happens except mutual
embarrassment. You know what I mean? I decided that I had to have this
figured out before...IF, I mean *if*, it ever came down to that.
What did I do to help figure it out? Easy. I took a long hot shower and tried
to jerk off to mental images of Spike. Nothing *too* intense. Just...how it
would feel to have *his* hands running over my wet skin, how it would feel to
have his lips nibbling on my throat, my chest...my nipples. How he would
look, all wet and soapy as he slid to his knees in front of me and how he
would nuzzle against my hip before running his pink tongue along my erection.
How it would feel to have him take me into that cool mouth of his, swallowing
me down...
Great, I have another hard-on now.
Anyway Diary, the experiment was a great success. It has been *so* long since
I've been that turned on. I came so hard that it was all I could do to keep
from falling in the shower and most likely splitting my head open. And I know
for a fact that my orgasm made me see spots behind my eyes. If he's even half
as good as my imagination than he's hell on wheels between the sheets. If
he's even half as good at sex is he is at fighting than I think that he's
probably the best lover on the planet.
And these thoughts are soooo not helping my erection go away.
Of course, now the big question is how do I let him know that I'm suddenly
attracted to him and would like to change the basis of our relationship. It's
not like I can just walk up to him, strip off my clothes and casually
announce that we have to 'interlock parts' now.
oh my god...
*What* am I doing! What kind of heartless beast *am* I? How could I be
contemplating having a *relationship* with *anyone* when my poor sweet Anya
is lying in a cold grave?
I am scum.
Alexander L. Harris
SPIKE *KISSED* ME!!!!!!!!
On the LIPS! With HIS lips!
oh my god oh my god, what'll I do? I have no clue what to do...
Um...I know. I'm gonna go to work and pray that I don't get so distracted
thinking about the KISS that I don't hurt myself with the reciprocating saw.
That's it. Go to work and let denial do it's thing. Yep. That's me. Denial
boy.
Well...gotta go.
Xan
Dear Diary,
Well, Diary...I think I owe you an explanation about this morning. Not that
you care, being a book half-filled with my scribbled writing...but maybe
it'll help sort things out in my head.
You see, it's really all my fault, actually. I've been acting like a big ass
lately. First I was trying to figure out if I could ever see myself in a
'relationship' with Spike. I *thought* I had been real smooth and nonchalant
about it, but apparently not. In fact, I was (and this is a direct quote)
silent, broody and throwing bloody odd looks around like the Great Irish
Bastard Himself had gone and infected me with his Magnificent Poofishness.
Capitalize as required.
Then...about an hour or so after I figured out that I *could*, in fact, enjoy
a tumble between the sheets with Spike, I realized that it would be as if I
had forgotten about Anya. When I *haven't* and I *won't*. God knows I still
love her and miss her and I want her back so badly, but...
Anyway, I guess at that point I started getting snippy and gloomy and down
right nasty to be around. I didn't *mean* to be a jerk...it's just that
everytime I caught myself having a good time or thinking about Spike, I would
get hit with this black wave of guilt. Like I didn't deserve to be happy or
to have a good time. After all, Anya can't anymore, so why should I, right?
I know what you're thinking. It sounds strange to me too even as I'm writing
it down, but it doesn't stop me from *feeling* this way.
Anyhoo...I guess Spike got sick and tired of me moping about, alternately
laughing, joking and having a good time, and then suddenly snarling, grumpy,
and rude. So, being Spike, he did the only thing he could. He confronted me
with it.
So...I sort of told him. Not *everything*...at least, not at first.
I told him that I liked someone. I mean, *really* liked someone. As in,
falling head over heels in *love* with this person...and did that make me
evil for not being faithful in my heart to Anya?
He got this odd look on his face, one that I've never seen before, but it was
soooo sad. I was confused at first, but I guess it makes sense in retrospect.
In any case, he went on to tell me about how much he loved Dru and how much
it hurt when she left him, because he *knew* that he'd never get her
back...just like when Angelus left them over a century ago.
He told me that just because you can't hold someone in your arms anymore, it
doesn't mean you stop loving them. That you don't *ever* have to stop loving
them. Then he told me that it's okay to love more than one person. And that
it's okay to love them differently. He said that each love is unique and
should be cherished for it's own specialness, but that one love shouldn't
stop you from experiencing another.
And in some weird Hellmouthy way, that makes sense to me. It doesn't stop me
from loving Anya or missing her or wishing that she would just come *back* to
me...but it does make me feel better about having feelings for Spike.
Speaking of Spike...he then asked me *who* I thought I was falling in love
with. My only excuse is that I was *so* distracted trying to wrap my brain
around the concept of loving more than one person at the same time that I
just blurted out the truth without stopping to think.
So I said, "You Spike. I'm falling in love with you."
We both sort of froze, just staring at each other in shock. I think I was as
close to wetting my pants as I've come since "that day". I can clearly
remember that Spike's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he were
going to say something, but nothing came out.
Then, in a blur of movement, he was across the room and pulling me into his
arms. I remember that the only thought running through my head was *not* that
he's going to kill me now...but that his eyes were so very very blue.
Then...he *kissed* me.
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
Guess what Diary? Spike and I are officially dating.
Yep, that's what I said. We're dating. As in, Spike asked me out on a date.
And I said yes.
I know what you're thinking. It sounds so...highschool-ish, huh? I mean, I've
known him for *years*. Since I was a kid practically. And we *live* together,
for goodness sake. Dating just sounds so...backwards or something.
But here were are. Just home from our first "official" date.
And it was...nice.
Okay, it was awkward as hell. But...sort of fun too. In a tense "have I lost
my mind, I can't believe I'm doing this" way. However, I'm starting to get
used to this new...tension and strained awareness between us.
It's been this way since Friday after the Kiss.
All weekend long and all week so far, we've been doing this awkward dancing
around each other. Which was expected, I guess. I mean, I blatantly admitted
(idiot that I am) that I was falling in love with him and he likes me too.
I'm not sure why, but he does. So, here we are, both falling for the other
emotionally and sparks are guaranteed to fly physically. I'm sure you think
that everything should be peaches and cream and that we should strip down and
fall naked into bed together, right?
While I admit that it *sounds* like fun...we've got too much baggage to go
there. Yet. Maybe ever.
I mean, it's like this big white elephant sitting in the middle of the living
room, ya know? We both know it's there...and yet, neither of us wants to
*admit* it's there. So, we tiptoe around this huge thing between us, trying
so hard not to upset the status quo. I'm fairly stable and happy...and so is
he. Don't fix what ain't broke. Ya know?
So we get all flirty and then we back off shyly. We flirt, we get shy. Flirt.
Shy. Flirt. Shy. It's this endless cycle that's sweet and romantic and fun.
And part of me wants soooo much more. I'm sure he feels the same way.
Then I think of Anya. And this agonizing pain rips through me, leaving me
gasping for breath. If I let myself fall that deeply in love again, and then
I lose it? It'll *kill* me. There will be *no* surviving that pain twice. I
know this as fact.
And Spike feels the same way about Dru.
He tried with Buffy and she shot him down. He was willing to risk it all and
it didn't work. He was lucky in a way. Buffy didn't give him the chance to
have that love returned so that it could grow and bloom. If that happened and
then *she* left him, it would have killed him.
And now I'm in that position that Buffy was in a few short months ago. If I
keep Spike at arms length, he'll eventually get over me. But if I let him get
close and nurture his feelings towards me, than I could kill him by simply
walking away. Or by dying. Or...
Well, anyway, that's a lot of responsibility. For both of us.
The white elephant.
It was Spike who figured that maybe if we take it *real* slow then it'll be
okay. Instead of fighting that metaphorical elephant, we could...I don't
know. Trick him, I guess.
With that in mind, Spike asked me out on a date.
And I said yes.
He took me to a movie at the local theater. Not sure where he got the money
and I didn't ask. But that's okay. He bought the tickets, the popcorn, the
drinks and the chocolate. It was...different for me. I'm usually the one who
pays, but it was fun. Being pampered and catered to like that, I mean. I can
see why girls like it so much.
The movie was, of course, an action flick with a high body count, but we both
loved it. And we held hands in the dark the entire time. Which, if you think
about it, is funny. Spike, William the Bloody, holding hands. But it was
nice. He was nice...well, for Spike. And he has great hands. Slim. Strong.
Cool. Smooth. His had felt great in my own. Like it belonged there.
Afterwards was a bit tense. I was nervous. Babbling, stuttering and all. I
kept having these visions of him kissing me again. I wanted that. Badly. Very
badly. But, I didn't want it as well. The elephant and all...
I'm sure that I was acting like a psychotic idiot, but I couldn't help it.
All I have to say is, thank God for Buffy. We ran into her on the way home
and she roped us into helping her roust out a nest of fledglings.
Nothing like a perky Slayer and dusting vamps to ease a man's tension.
In fact, I feel so good now, that I think I'll ask Spike out on Friday. I
wonder if he's ever gone Miniature Golfing before...
Alexander L. Harris
Dear Diary,
I said I would do it and I did. I asked Spike out on a date. He said *yes*!
Okay, okay. So it didn't go as smoothly as all that. I stuttered and blushed
the whole time I floundered my way through the asking process. To Spike's
credit, he didn't laugh at me. What's more, I nearly split my face in half
with my smile when he agreed to go out with me.
That's when he said, "So Pet. Where do you plan on taking such a handsome and
sexy vamp as myself?"
I told him that I had been considering Miniature Golf.
That little bit of information segwayed directly into our first official
"fight" as a semi-official "couple". It was very highschoolish and dramatic.
Lots of shouting and hand waving. Not to mention foot stomping. Very
invigorating and nothing got broke. All in all, a good little argument. And
I'm somewhat of an expert at them.
Go ahead and laugh, Diary. I know you want to. However, it took me over an
hour and a half to convince the bleached idiot that he did *not* have to wear
those "bloody awful plaid knickers with a matching cap" in order to be
allowed on the playing course.
My neighbors must think we are nuts. That's okay though. I got my second
Spike Kiss out of it. Spike sure knows how to say "I'm sorry" really really
well.
Any yeah...it *was* as yummy as the first one.
Alexander L. Harris
TBC
