Sword and Stake Home Gen/Ensemble Page Shippy (M/F) Page Slash (M/M) Page Short Stories Page
Behind Blue Eyes (The Who)
Post- Seeing Red
The quiet of the residential neighborhood was rent by the roar of a motorcycle in the early morning hours.
If anyone was awakened by the noise, they didn’t get up to see what caused the racket. The residents of Sunnydale had learned to ignore what went on in their town after dark—at least, the smart ones did; the ones who wanted to stay alive. The motorcycle left the environs of Sunnydale and hit the coastal highway toward LA.
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
The sad man
Behind blue eyes
“What can I tell you, baby? I’ve always been bad.”*
He must be bad; an evil, soulless thing. She never missed an opportunity to remind him of that. So why did he feel so bloody guilty?
He shouldn’t feel guilt for what he had almost done—he shouldn’t be able to feel guilt. He was a bad-ass vampire, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that the trade-off when you lose your soul and the demon takes your body? Die young, stay pretty, do whatever the fuck you want and you don’t feel bad about it. So why the bloody hell was he feeling so fucking guilty?
No one knows what it’s like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
And he had lied, hadn’t he? He’d told her he would never leave her, never hurt her, and in the course of one evening he’d done both. Bollixed things up right and proper this time.
But my dreams
They aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
But they sodding well are empty. What kind of a stupid git dreams of having the Slayer fall in love with him? He should have known better. But for a bit there, they had actually seemed to be friends. She trusted him, confided in him, needed him . . . and he had allowed himself to dream, like some hopelessly romantic wanker, that maybe someday . . .
I have hours
Only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free
He’d never be free. She was in his gut, his throat his mind and his heart. He couldn’t get her out—he’d tried. And now all he had were lonely hours. An eternity of lonely hours to look forward to. She’d had her vengeance, all right. She’d wormed her way inside him with her strength, her courage, her hot, tight little body and her stupid shampoo commercial hair and she’d changed him. He could never go back to being what he had been and he didn’t know what he was now.
No one knows what it’s like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
Bloody right, I blame you! She had him by the short hairs and he couldn’t do anything right.
“It’s over. Move on. You have to move on, Spike.” That’s what she’d told him. “Move on.” So he did. He’d tried. She’d told him to move on, but he could see he’d hurt her when he brought a date to the wedding that wasn’t.
He’d been prepared to back off, to go back to adoring her from afar. Followin’ her around like a little lapdog; the Slayer’s pet vampire, waitin’ ’til he was needed to take care of Dawn or fight at her side or to fuck the life into her when she was colder and deader than he’d ever be.
Then she’d come to him again and told him he had to move on. He’d never be real to her. His love wasn’t real; not like the souled vampire she’d been able to love back. So he sought solace in Anya, who’d been damn near destroyed by Harris. He and Anya had offered each other some cold comfort—the Slayer and her boy were through with their walk on the wild side, weren’t they? So why did he feel so bloody guilty at the look in Buffy’s eyes when she’d seen him with Anya? What did the bitch want from him, then?
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe can show through
But my dreams
They aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free
He’d hurt her, he knew he had. Dawn had only confirmed it. So he’d fortified himself with some liquid courage and gone to apologize. He’d said his piece and was preparing to leave, when she’d finally said it.
“I have feelings for you. I do.”+
Spike had felt a flare of hope. Maybe his dreams weren’t as empty as he’d thought. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t completely over. She felt something for him, she’d finally admitted it, and it might not be love yet, but he knew he could make her feel. He could push back the emptiness she felt and fill her with himself—his cock, his heart and his love.
When she was so disconnected from life that she couldn’t feel anything, he’d been able to make her feel . . . no one else. Not her Watcher, not her sister, not her Scoobies—only him. He’d kept her grounded. Kept her from slipping away.
Why didn’t he realize that this time “no” actually meant “no”? “No” usually meant “convince me”, but this time it meant “no” and he’d hurt her. He’d sworn to never hurt her, and he did. He did!
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
And he was a bloody fool! She’d made him laugh, she’d made him cry, she’d made him a better man and he’d thrown it all away. He’d never wanted to hurt her and he had; first by shagging Anya and then by almost raping her. Guess he was just an evil, soulless thing, after all.
If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm; let me wear your coat
He’d tried. She’d swallowed the evilness of despair—of giving up. He’d put a metaphorical finger, among other things, down her throat and refused to let her give up. He’d fought her death wish tooth and nail. Buggered if he’d let her die again! He’d seen the dance with death in the eyes of three Slayers. Two, he’d killed; the third, he’d fought with everything in him to keep alive.
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knew the grief and emptiness within him. He was hollow—nothing but a shell. He couldn’t continue to exist like this.
If the bitch thought he’d give up and just roll over and die, she didn’t know who she was dealing with. He was a fighter—always had been. He’d fought too long and hard for her life to throw away his own!
Right, then! He was a hollow shell? He’d fill that shell himself. He’d fight for his soul and then the bitch would see a change in him. He’d let her down and hurt her? Never again! He’d do whatever it takes to be the kind of man she could count on; the kind of man she deserves.
And the bitch would never be able to call him an “evil, soulless thing” again! Bonus.
The End
*Quote from Fool For Love by Douglas Petrie
+Quote from Seeing Red by Steven S. DeKnight
*****************************************************************************************
Sword and Stake Home Gen/Ensemble Page Shippy (M/F) Page Slash (M/M) Page Short Stories Page
