COME BACK TO ME
CHAPTER 29

Many thanks once again to Lou for the wonderful beta work - don't know where I'd be without her. Probably still plucking up the courage to post...

 

Harmony and Andrew jumped guiltily when Spike and Buffy opened the door to Dawn’s room.  Andrew even yelped and threw away the bottle of shocking pink nail polish like it was on fire.  It landed at Spike’s feet, splattering his Docs with the very fetching shade.  Spike tilted his head and zapped Andrew with a death glare that had him frozen, the tiny brush gripped between his fingers dripping pearlised Day-glo.

 

“Oops!  Hi, Buffy,” Harmony squeaked.  “Dawn’s been really good, no trouble at all.  We kind of did a makeover on her to cheer her up – see?  Although I couldn’t remember what colour her eyes were so maybe it’s the wrong green…” Harmony’s words tailed off as Buffy fixed her with a Slayer stare.  “…and I can wipe it right off…”

 

Buffy drew a breath in to snark at Harmony…but let it go.  She had more important things to deal with than the ditzy vamp with the fashion sense of a Barbie doll.  “It doesn’t matter, Harmony.  You can go now – have fun!  Thanks for sitting with her.”

 

“Anytime!!” Harmony leapt up, slipped on her sparkly mules and headed to the door.  Andrew was still staring, mouth open, at Spike who was scowling like the toughest, handsomest movie baddie, his cheekbones even more pronounced as he bit on his bottom lip.  Droolworthy…  Harmony’s hissed entreaty to her shopping partner went unanswered so she clacked across the floor and grabbed Andrew’s arm, dragging him out behind her.

 

As the door clicked shut, Spike snorted and laughed, raking his fingers through his hair.

 

“You big faker!” 

 

“What?   Can’t be having that little twit thinkin’ it’s okay to muck up my best boots.  I mean, come on…girly pink?”  Spike grinned as he spoke, grimacing when he got a look at Dawn’s overly made-up face.  “And that comes off the Bit right away – she looks like a tart.  Can’t have her waking up like that!”

 

Buffy searched about for some wipes, finding some eventually on the shelf by the sink, and turned to de-Harmonise her sister, chatting over her shoulder to Spike as she did so. 

 

“Maybe we should take some photographs first, so Dawn can plot her own revenge on those two.”

 

No reply.

 

“Spike?”  Buffy spun quickly, panicked, her heart racing.  She was alone in the room with her sister.

 

“Oh God…not again” she sighed, leaning against Dawn’s bed. 

 

The final trial had begun.

 

+ + + +

 

Spike found himself in a pitch-black void; not a spark of light, not a whisper of sound…nothing.  It was a mite unsettling, especially when he reached out around him and couldn’t find anything to touch.  Panic bubbling, he pressed down with his feet encountering nothing more than a surface that gave slightly but made no sound when he stomped on it. 

 

It was as if he was nowhere.  Like he’d ceased to exist.  More bloody party tricks! 

 

“Oi!  Tossers!  Can we do without the theatrics?  First there’s all the light, now there’s nothing at all.  Very dramatic.  You might as well come out now; ‘cause I’m just gonna sit down and wait.  I’m done being shafted by you lot.”

 

Suddenly there was a flare of light, and the same triumvirate stood before him in silence.

 

“Least you’ve left me with my kit on this time.  Mind if I smoke?” Spike grabbed a cigarette and his Zippo and eyed the apparitions nonchalantly.  “Tough if you do…”

 

“Very well, vampire.  The time has come for you to meet your fate.  Our messenger will guide you through what is to come.”

 

Bells tinkled, snow began to fall in the soft light that emanated from the Powers’ outlines.  Spike saw scenes of his life flash before him, too fast to register more than a slight memory, but recognisably things he’d experienced in his long existence.  Some things he’d rather forget forever…

 

The Power’s mouthpiece spoke.  “You have lived and unlived well beyond the span of mortal years.  Much has been affected by you, and your presence on this plane has altered many lives. It is time that you saw the ripples that spread from your deeds.”

 

Spike snorted his amusement.  “Gonna be here a while then; done some pretty sick things in my long years on this earth.  Rating this show triple X are we?”  The Powers didn’t answer.

 

“Okay, that’s enough jingle bells.  I’m getting the movie reference, just waiting for Clarence to show up – you’re gonna prove to me that if I’d never been born, things would have gone arse over tit, right?”

 

The trio of gods coalesced and pulsed, multicoloured lights strobing along their vaporous forms.  

 

The voice was booming yet almost not there.  “On the contrary, William, known as Spike.  We are going to prove to you that had you never been born, the world would have been a better place.

 

Spike turned to face them.  “Really?  You’ve changed your tune.   What happened to the ‘champion needed to save the world’ speech?”

 

There was a pause measured in centuries.

 

Finally, the gods spoke.  “We were…mistaken.  There is no doubt that you have improved individual lives.  But we measure in entire worlds, not individuals, and you have taken more than you have given.  We cannot end your existence; that is not in our power, for that too would alter the balance.  But we can show you what could have been and let you make the choice yourself.”

 

Spike raised a sardonic eyebrow.  “Can’t say I’m feeling the urge to top myself, to be honest.  I’ve more reason to live than ever, but by all means do your worst.  Sooner it’s over, the sooner I can get back to my girls.  Oh, and just to make it all nice and clear – you can fuck off if you think I’ll be spilling any of my precious blood to sort your Dudley Do-Right out.  You want him – you fix him.  I’m done.”

 

The bells became increasingly loud and strident, building and building in tone and volume until Spike passed out, his hands clapped over his ears.

 

+ + + +

 

He knew he was in Sunnydale the second he came to.  In broad daylight.  Shielding his eyes with his arm against the dazzling sunlight, he scrambled to his feet to seek cover before he met flamey death…again.  Frantic, he looked this way and that, finally spotting a dark thicket of trees not too far off; with luck he’d get away with a scorched duster and maybe some blistered hands as he covered his head.  It was only when he’d taken a few loping strides that he realised that he wasn’t even smouldering. 

 

He dropped his arms and stared in amazement at his pale skin, not even remotely flammable.  “What the fuck…?”

 

“Hey, you waiting for me?” 

 

Spike spun round to locate the speaker, eyes still screwed up against the glare.  The silhouette that greeted him was unremarkable, small, as in Red’s wolf small but with a silly hat.  Male, voice a little nasal and whiney.  The figure approached, hand outstretched.  Ever the product of his Victorian upbringing when caught unawares, Spike found himself reaching out to shake the proffered hand, bowing slightly in greeting.

 

“And you are?”

 

“Whistler.  Been sent to guide you.”

 

“Marvellous.  I’m being led through my life by a hairless hobbit… with a hat for god’s sake.”

 

Whistler smiled, unperturbed by snark and insults.  “Yeah, yeah – diss the demon that’s on your side.  Good plan, William.”

 

Spike growled, “The name’s Spike.”

 

“No kidding?  They told me you were a poet called William.  Still, a rose by any other name…  Just doing my job.  Speaking of…shall we?”

 

Spike tilted his head in contemplation.  He could just refuse to be part of the Powers’ little game, dig his heels in.   He doubted there’d be much they could do to make him take this trip through the looking glass.  But maybe they’d just dust him instead, despite their earlier protestations.  And besides, it wouldn’t hurt to see how the world had turned out without him.  Probably be a damn sight more boring…

 

“Okay, Clarence.  Lead on,” Spike smirked.

 

As they walked, Whistler peeked at the vampire quizzically.  “Clarence?”

 

“You’re like Clarence trying to get his wings…Don’t tell me you haven’t seen ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?  You’re kidding me?  Well, there’s Jimmy Stewart playing this long streak of piss…

 

+ + + +

 

Faith snapped her cell phone shut, biting her lip worriedly.  She needed to be with Robin.  The doctor in charge of his treatment felt that now was the right time to withdraw the sedation that had kept him immobile to give his wound a chance to heal – and as promised, the doc had called to let her know that he was about to begin.  Duty warred with … whatever the hell it was she felt for the man.  She was reluctant to give it a name yet, not wanting to jinx the burgeoning relationship while it was going so well. 

 

And okay, a near death experience might not be considered by everyone as ‘going so well’, but to a Slayer the difference between ‘death’ and ‘near death’ was victory.

 

It had been a long time since somebody meant this much to her.  A long time…

 

Angel’s mocking laughter broke through her musings, setting her teeth on edge.

 

“Can it, Angel.”  Faith paced, throwing the stake in her right hand up to twirl around, catching it reflexively and repeating the gesture.

 

“Awww, Faith, do I detect a lack of fulfilment?  Can’t be easy, the boy-toy running out of juice like that.  And I just know you’ve got an itch….” Angel wiggled his tongue lewdly and grinned.  “I’m not exactly busy at the moment.“

 

“Like I’ll ever be that desperate, asshole!”

 

“Okay.  How about I make sure he never needs a recharge again?  Been a while since I had some XY in me, and from what I’ve seen he’s low in cholesterol.  Mmmm -- bet that’d have me standing to attention.”

 

“Shut the hell up!”

 

Faith snarled and rushed a giggling Angel where he lay manacled on the bed.  In a second the tip of the stake was poised over his heart beneath the designer shirt.  It took all her restraint not to ram it home. He was getting on her last nerve, and it was only through sheer force of will that she stopped, recalling a time when she’d goaded him to finish her and instead he’d saved her.

 

No.  She wouldn’t be responsible for his dusting, no matter how he tried to provoke her.  She should have remembered he’d do that, find her weakness and exploit it.  And she had to admit Robin was a weak spot in her defences; she cared what happened to him.  And with that thought the decision was made.

 

She moved away from the bed and snapped open the phone, speed dial raising Giles on the other end.  She didn’t bother to whisper, knowing full well that Angel was able to hear every word anyway.  After informing Giles that he’d better have somebody to take over in five minutes since she had to be elsewhere, she perched restlessly on the edge of the bedside cabinet and fixed Angel with a steely glare.

 

After a minute of silence, Angel spoke.  “What are you looking at?”

 

Faith shook her head slowly.  “Just imagining you when you come back from this sicko power trip you’re on.  Gonna take a lot more than ‘Woe is me, I help the helpless’ to fix this crock.  You need to give it up, Angel.  Wake up to what’s really going on here and stop kicking.  You know Spike’ll pass the trials; he’s like a dog with a bone!  That happens and it’s only a matter of time before you’re the King of Pain again, crying in your pillow.  Might as well make it easy on yourself, start the redemption early.”

 

Whatever response the vampire was about to make was lost as the door to his executive suite swung open and Giles and Lorne passed through.

 

+ + + +

 

Xander had calmed down, biting back the venom he so wanted to spew instead of playing good old Xander, welcomed back into the fold.  A dipped head and a mumbled ‘God, I’m so sorry’ worked wonders with Willow , the sole tear that slipped down his stubbly cheek gaining him a sympathetic squeeze of his hand.  Again he had to stop himself recoiling from the contact, managing to mask a slight shift away from her as a shiver, Willow clinging on even tighter and hugging him again.

 

If it was this easy to get back into the inner sanctum, Travers’ demands would be a breeze.  Xander was about to make his move when a cell phone rang.  Giles rushed to answer it, the Scooby Doo ring tone bringing out his best look of pained distaste. 

 

“Erm...yes, hello?”  the former Watcher spoke softly, turning away from the group.  “Well…it’s not quite convenient…of course I understand, but, Faith…yes.  Fine.  I’ll be along shortly.  Half an hour…yes, yes…all right, no need to lose your temper.  No!  Don’t leave him alone.  I’ll be there.”  The cell phone snapped shut.

 

Wesley shot Giles a quizzical look.  To say that the older Watcher looked thunderous would be an understatement.  Only a Slayer could initiate that reaction, Wesley grimacing in sympathy with his colleague.  Not for the first time, Wes wondered at the short sightedness of an institution that paired a naturally strong, gifted and headstrong young girl, with multiple questions and needs, with a bookish young man with scant experience of the real, live, scary world.  It was a recipe for disaster surely.

 

“Go.  I’ll carry on here.  Take Lorne; make Angel sing for his supper.  In fact, that would be almost poetic justice.”

 

Giles and the empath left Wesley surrounded by books, Fred brewing potions or making numbers dance in the corner and Harmony and Cordelia checking each other out for fashion disasters.  Willow and Xander remained on the periphery, heads bent together as they chatted, to all the world looking like old friends catching up.  And Andrew, as always, drifted from one group to another, trying to fit in.

 

+ + + +

 

Spike leant back against the wall outside the Bronze, watching as Buffy – a younger Buffy – pummelled a vamp on the floor.  He’d seen this all before, had lived it in fact, but there was something missing from the scene.  Him.  Where he should be standing in the shadows, starting off the slow handclaps, there was a void.  Buffy finished off the vampire, a nonentity that had mattered so little that Spike didn’t even remember his name, and stood up, brushing the remains off her.  Without so much as a backward glance, she went back inside the Bronze.

 

When Whistler didn’t speak, Spike turned to him, exasperated.  “What’s the point of that then?  Same thing happened last time – Buffy slayed, she walked away.  Not really spotting the difference, mate.”

 

Whistler shuffled nervously.  Being the Powers’ envoy was never going to be the easiest gig in the world, trying to interpret what was at best a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, and sometimes just genuine gibberish.

 

“Yeah, well – it starts off real subtle, see.  With you being out of the picture, Buffy didn’t have some blond creep threaten to kill her on Saturday.  That had to be an improvement.”

 

Spike simply snorted, dragging on a cigarette as he propped up the wall.  When Whistler snapped his fingers, the wall disappeared and Spike dropped to his knees, covering his eyes against the bright light that suddenly assaulted him.  He looked up and found himself in the quad outside Sunnydale High School , Buffy, Willow and Xander walking towards him and Whistler.  He was still uneasy about the sunlight, but wasn’t about to show it to his companion, but he did duck his head as Buffy appeared to look right at him.  She continued to smile and talk to Willow and Xander, oblivious to his presence.  He took the opportunity to study her face, plumper than now, more girlish.  Her skirt was short – the wrong side of decent, even – and she seemed incredibly young.  He couldn’t help a wry smile.  He guessed that she would have been maybe 16 or 17, still full of hope and free of the cares that would haunt her in later years.  It looked good on her. 

 

“Much as I’m enjoying our little outing in the sun, mate, I’m not really getting the message.  Don’t remember any of this happening so don’t go blaming me for it… whatever it is!”

 

Whistler closed his eyes in contemplation – or consternation – as he composed his reply.  Whatever he said, Spike would want to know more.  Thing was, he didn’t know any more.  He was a guide without a guidebook, only his instincts to interpret the Powers’ wishes as things unfolded.  And he’d thought Angel was hard work!

 

“The Powers want you here for a reason, vampire  -- so go with it.  See if you freckle.”

 

“Oh, hilarious.  That’s all I need right now – cryptoguide with a the wit of a gnat.”  In a burst of speed, Spike rushed to stand in front of Buffy and her friends, waving his arms wildly and shouting her name.  Nothing.

 

The group walked straight by and left the campus, splitting up and going their separate ways home.  Spike ambled after Buffy, slipping into the house behind her before the door closed.  He made himself comfortable at one end of the couch and watched the Slayer as she dumped her schoolbag and ran out to the kitchen, returning with a bag of chips, a coke, and a candy bar.  She kicked off her shoes and curled up next to him, her feet tucked beneath her, and attacked the snacks with relish.  He smiled fondly; this was a Buffy he’d never seen before, just a high school girl doing kids’ stuff. -- not a sign of the battle-weary slayer.

 

Spike couldn’t take his eyes off her.  He felt a lump forming in his throat at the thought of everything she’d been through since these early days, but squashed it down.  Now was not the time to turn into a maudlin whinger.

 

Whistler coughed to get Spike’s attention.  He’d been waiting for some action, a sign that the Powers were about to throw something in the mix to shake up the vamp, but so far – nada.  It was just Scooby-Doo on the TV and a teenager munching on goodies.  Not exactly apocalypse material.

 

Whistler’s voice rang out loud in the living room, unheard by Buffy who was chuckling at the cartoon capers. 

 

“Hey, you alright there?”

 

Spike took a second to consider.  He was very much all right.  Happy Buffy, healthy and young, seemingly not a care in the world?  It was all good to him.

 

“Yeah, mate.  I’m very alright – in fact, make me into a real boy and I’ll be just perfect.”

 

Whistler grinned; Spike’s momentary happiness was infectious, and much as he’d love to oblige, he had a job to do.  And knowing the Powers, this was just a little sweetener to make the bitter pill to follow all the more unpalatable.  He motioned to the vampire it was time to get a move on, and turned to go.

 

 

Affecting a bored yawn, Spike got up and followed Whistler, casting a yearning look in Buffy’s direction.  He’d give anything to be able to hold her right there, make her safe and happy.  She was so young, so unaware of the troubles to come.  The scene shifted before he got the chance to finish his musing, Spike still in mid-stride.  When Whistler stopped dead, Spike walked into his back, cursing.  Whistler’s eyes were opaque, his head cocked as he communed with the Powers.  He shuddered as the message ended, turning to face the vampire.

 

“Change in the plans, pal.  This time you’re getting the full Technicolor glory of exactly what you’ve done, the pain you’ve inflicted, and how it could have been so different.  This little domestic scene is something you secretly dream of having – my masters have a sick sense of humour -- but I figure it shows you why that’ll never happen for the monster you really are.  Kind of harsh, but effective I suppose.”

 

Spike smirked, tilting his head in response.  “Okay.  Do your worst.”

 

Whistler continued into the dimly lit building, Spike at his heels.

 

It was dark, dank.  The smell of musty cement filled Spike’s nostrils – that and the scent of fresh blood.  He inhaled deeply, his mouth watering.  Human.  He heard voices, and started to walk towards them, recognising the whelp and Red, his demon becoming agitated as it noted the presence of a werewolf.  Red’s dog then.  And …the cheerleader?

 

What the hell?

 

“When is this?” Spike queried.  “I know the place, don’t remember being here with this lot.”

 

“Not even the two you kidnapped and threatened with a glass in the face, the boy bleeding from his smashed head?”

 

“Oh.  Yeah, right.  Well – it seemed like a good idea at the time.  Needed a spell, couldn’t do it m’self, Red sort of fell into my lap.  The boy was just insurance.” 

 

Whistler just stared at him, giving no reply.

 

“What?  Will you lot try to remember that I’m a bloody vampire!  Haven’t always been stuck with a chip or all nice and soulful, you know.  Nothing to be ashamed of – I did what I had to.  And anyway, the whelp didn’t come to any real harm.  Just a bump on the noggin, mended in minutes.”

 

“Look again, Spike.  The blood -- it’s not from his wound.”

 

Spike moved forward, eyeing the prostrate figure of Cordelia where she lay in the basement where she’d fallen through the rickety stairs.  A metal building strut impaled her through the belly, blood pooling around it and underneath her.  Xander was talking to her, trying to keep her awake, willing her to hang on.  It was clear that she was hurt, not just physically, and was turning away from Xander.

 

Spike felt a pang of regret.  He hadn’t quite got used to that feeling since regaining his soul, the burning inside of him.  He didn’t know how this had happened, but he had no doubt it was connected to his actions.  There are always consequences, he’d said, so long ago now.  “Okay, I get it.  Big bad vampire causes much pain – not sure how exactly, seeing as I didn’t even know she was there…but she made it okay; I just left her back with Peaches’ gang not five minutes ago.”

 

“You think?  You don’t know how things would have panned out if this didn’t happened if she’d been unharmed.  This moment altered her life.  See what could have been.” 

 

With a wave of his hand, Whistler fed Spike’s mind with flash images of Cordelia and Xander, a wedding with the gorgeous bride in cream satin, awestruck groom waiting at the altar.  Three children, all with dark hair and dark eyes, clinging to an older Cordelia, laughing at the man taking a picture.  Bright sunny days; laughter, always laughter.  A silver-haired old lady, surrounded by chubby grandchildren and crisp white linen, a satisfied smile on her face.

 

Whistler was about to start the ‘see what you ruined’ speech when he was stopped by Spike’s giggles.  He turned to the vampire in amazement.

 

“Oh, man” he gasped.  “If that’s your idea of the cheerleader’s happy ever after, think again.  She’d have gone off her rocker living that life.  Looks like I did her a big favour if it was my fault she dumped Doughboy and got a bit of excitement in her life.  And anyway, isn’t she one of your mob now?”

 

Whistler bit his lip.  The irritating vampire had a point.  Yet again, he wished his ‘employers’ would give him an actual script instead of vague directions that basically meant wing it.  He managed to mutter something about good karma, but swiftly moved them on to the next moment in time.

 

It was a cold night, full moon lighting the gorse and patchy grass that made up the gypsies’ encampment.  Spike and Whistler watched as screaming people ran from caravans, aimless in their blind panic.  Ah…and there was the scourge of Europe , Angelus, Darla, Dru…and Spike.  Their faces were the horrific masks of their demons, blood coating their lips and fangs as they toyed with a young child here, a terrified old man there.  Angelus held a girl captive, his hand clamped across her mouth as he held her tight against him, preventing her from crying out.  He leant across his prize and kissed Darla long and hard, the girl sandwiched between them. 

 

Whistler hazarded a glance across to Spike, puzzled by the now ensouled vampire’s air of complete boredom.  Was he not sickened at the mindless brutality of the slaughter that was taking place, that he was participating in?  How could he not be on his knees in shame, pleading for forgiveness for his past actions?

 

Spike spoke low, his voice hard.  “Are we done here?  Been here, done this, you know?”

 

Whistler spluttered.  “But that’s the whole point, Spike.  Look at what you did, you and your vampire family.  How much better the world would have been if you hadn’t been here.”

 

Spike didn’t even blink.  “Oh please…  For a start off, I was a young vamp hungry for blood.  As in, really hungry, like when a teenager wolfs down burgers.  It’s what vampires do.  Do you think a lion worries about the deer he chomps on?  Plus I didn’t have a soul.  And, yeah, it burns me now – but back then, it was the natural order.  I can’t change the past and maybe Angel gets off on the whole brooding deal, but I don’t see the point myself.  Nothing to be done about it now; you gotta move forward.  And didn’t I help save the world?  I figure that might deserve a few brownie points from your bosses.”

 

Whistler was astonished.  “And you can’t see how you not being there could have improved things?”

 

“No, I can’t.  Would have happened anyway, just taken longer to get the same result.  Oh!  And have you forgotten that this is the very place where your St Liam regained his extremely iffy soul?  I suppose you’re telling me that you want that changed too?”

 

The Power’s envoy didn’t even bother to reply, clicking his fingers to change the scene, avoiding thinking too long on the logic of the vampire.  Damn him.

 

This was Buffy’s house.  Buffy’s bedroom.  Spike’s eyes softened as he watched himself emerge from the shadows, his face a study in rapture as he gazed at the Slayer until she noticed his presence and sat up in bed.  He gulped along with his past-time self as the covers slipped slightly revealing her bare shoulders.  He couldn’t help the growl that escaped his lips, remembering that at the time they were now visiting, he’d yet to have a kind word, let alone hear her whisper his name with love.  Instead of the warm eyes of his lover, the Slayer was looking at his earlier self with cold anger.

 

‘You know that every time you turn up like this, you’re risking all your parts?’

 

‘There’s something you need to see.’

 

Time travelling Spike remembered what came next with a groan, hearing himself utter the priceless chat-up line.

 

‘Are you naked under there?’

 

He chuckled as he watched himself turn away -- the look of pure torment on his face.  So near and yet so far.  Whistler and Spike walked behind the Slayer and the vampire’s alter ego, watched Buffy discover Riley being bitten by a vampire whore and enjoying it, how she fell apart as the whole scene played out and Riley finally left, Buffy racing to ask him to stay but too late.

 

Spike tilted his head as he turned to Whistler, his voice incredulous.  “Now, tell me exactly why being there wasn’t a good thing.  Soldier boy wasn’t playing with a full deck, getting bite jobs and probably worse.  Buffy needed to know.  Finn was putting them all at risk and… she deserved better.”

 

Whistler’s expression was less than sympathetic.  “You mean she deserved you.”

 

“Well…yeah.  Thought I’d made that plain,” Spike drawled, one hand travelling slowly down from his chest and along his abdomen until it came to rest framing his crotch.  “I know how to treat her, look after her.  I’d never…”

 

“Never hurt her?  Is that right?”  Whistler’s voice had a hard edge to it, and Spike had a sinking feeling he knew exactly where they were going next.  Not there.  Anywhere but there.

 

The stairs at Revello Drive .  Standing at the bottom, they seemed too steep to climb, and yet he followed his past self as he bounded up them two at a time, unable to resist following even knowing what he would find behind the closed bathroom door. 

 

It was all the same, the water filling the tub, Buffy bending stiffly to test it, bracing her injured back.  Himself, leaning against the door, explaining away the drunken encounter with Anya, telling her he went to see the girl to get something to make the feelings stop – anything to make it stop.  He could see himself starting to lose it.

 

Spike took an involuntary step forward reaching out to stop his past self from taking the fatal step towards the Slayer, but his hand went straight through.  Growling with frustration he tried again and again – but failed.  Failed to stop him grabbing Buffy and dragging her to the ground, crushing her with the weight of his body, pinning her down with his knees prying apart her legs.  He watched with tears in his eyes as Buffy cried and begged him to stop, struggling until finally pushing him off to crash against the far wall, looking at him with loathing. 

 

It made him sick.  Watching the woman he loved hurt and frightened – of him – it made his entire body ache with the need to claw out the soul, get rid of the pain. 

 

‘I could never love you…’

 

Spike fell to his knees and howled.  Maybe the Powers were right.  If he was capable of doing that to the person who meant everything to him, maybe the world would be a lot better without him in it.

 

tbc