Journey to Destiny - Chapter 8
Dec. 12th, 2003 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psubratAuthor: PSUbrat
Rating: PG-13 Some language and violence
Disclaimer and spoiler warning: All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I’m just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset. Some lines taken from “Restless” written by Joss Whedon.
Summary: Spike has a hard time dealing with Giles’ theory…
Timeframe: Immediately following “Fairytales and Prophecies”
Spike sat in bed, stunned and confused. “I’m sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly as if it would help clear his mind. “Don’t think I heard you right.” There had to be some kind of mistake. He couldn’t be a male Slayer. Not him. No. He remembered being in Romania the first time he had heard rumblings about such a thing. His initial reaction was to hunt down and kill this warrior, like he was looking to do with the Slayer, but when he had asked Darla and Angel about it, they had informed him that it was nothing more than fairytales and legends told to keep fledgling vampires and the rest of the demon populace in line. A male Slayer just didn’t exist. Now he was hearing that it may not be a fairytale after all, and that he might be the fabled male Slayer. No. There was just no way.
“It’s just a theory, Spike,” Giles assured him as he fiddled with his glasses. For as many times as he played with his glasses out of nervous habit, it was probably best that he hadn’t given in to Buffy’s suggestions of getting contacts. If he had, whatever would he do with his hands? Placing his glasses back on his nose and clasping his hands in front of him, he continued with his thoughts. “However, that being said, there’s really no other explanation that I can find at the moment for what’s happening to you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m correct.”
Spike began to shake his head vehemently, highly agitated. “No, you’re wrong. I can’t be something good like that, not after all the terrible things I’ve done. Slayers have to be pure, untouched by evil, right?” His eyes pleaded with them to confirm this, but neither did. He became enraged. “I’ve murdered people. Scores of people! I staked my own mother for Christ’s sake! I don’t deserve anything good like this!” And he didn’t. Evil. The Big Bad. That’s him. Was him, he corrected himself, but in the end, he had still killed – he had still been a murderer.
Giles and Doc exchanged quick, worried glances. Both had expected the former vampire to be at least somewhat happy with the news. This was not the reaction they had been prepared for in the least. Giles spoke first, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking Spike in the eyes, as much as he would allow him.
“This is an extraordinary thing that’s happened to you, Spike, don’t you see that? And as for the Slayer being something untouched by evil, I’m afraid that what little we do know about the origins of the Slayer say something completely different…”
Spike continued to shake his head. No. He wasn’t accepting this. Never... He just couldn’t, especially when the images of his victims flashed through his mind. “Tell that to the innocents I've killed over the last century! Tell the wives, husbands and kiddies and whatnot that the bastard that killed their families was given a get outta the shitpile card, cause some demon in Africa decided to play God!"
Giles bowed his head. He should have suspected that Spike would experience something similar to what Angel had gone through once his soul had been returned, but something didn’t add up. Why was Spike only now going through the guilt when he’d had his soul for months? “Spike, please…”
Spike folded his arms across his chest and glared at Giles. “You're wrong, the pair of you… I'm not your 'male slayer'. You want to know what I think? I think you two should sod off and leave me to kip, seein' as how I've just had major surgery." He rolled on the bed, turning his back to the watchers. Male slayer! Just who were they trying to kid?
Giles didn’t move from his spot on the bed. He was not going to be dismissed so easily. “Spike? Spike look at me.” He demanded as he firmly gripped Spike’s upper arm and squeezed. “We’re not done here.”
Spike didn’t turn around. “Think we are, Watcher. Until there’s concrete evidence to back you up, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Aren’t you even the slightest bit intrigued by it?” Doc asked incredulously, taking several steps closer to the bed and trying to get Spike’s attention. “You can’t tell me that you aren’t excited or pleased…”
“I’ve already told you!” Spike snapped. “I’m not a bleedin’ male slayer. Get over it. Both of you.”
Giles looked up at Doc, the severity of the situation reflecting on his face. “Gerald, would you please give me and Spike a few moments alone?”
Doc looked from his friend, to the bed, and then back again, concern glimmering in his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite. We’ll be fine,” Giles stated with a small smile and quick nod. He needed to get to the bottom of what was really bothering his houseguest. He wasn’t concerned that Spike would do harm to himself, but he was worried about the man’s mental health, which seemed to be rapidly deteriorating.
“I think I’ll head on out for the evening then, Rupert. Please keep me apprised of the situation when you have a chance.” He then turned and purposely placed himself in Spike’s line of sight. “Do get some rest Mr. Spike. Everything will look better after a proper night’s rest, you’ll see.”
Spike continued to lay motionless on the bed, pretending that he heard nothing of what was being said. Silently he begged for them to leave him be, to let him feel his pain and guilt alone. They couldn’t help him. He had to carry this burden alone.
Sighing, Doc walked towards the door. “Goodnight, Rupert. If you need anything…”
“Right. I’ll ring you. Thank you again for everything.”
“My pleasure.” He bowed slightly and then left the room, closing the door behind him.
Once the older man left the room, Giles turned his attentions back to Spike. He took notice that the once mighty vampire now looked like nothing more than a scared child, huddling into himself under the blankets. He also took note that Spike’s skin looked sallow except for his cheeks, which burned bright red – more than likely from the events of earlier in the day than from his anger. Male Slayer or not, mystical healing powers or not, what Spike had been through this day was enough to wear down even the strongest person. Slowly, he reached out, his hand millimeters from Spike’s arm again, when he hesitated and pulled back. As much as Spike had changed, it would still take some time getting used to it all. Time to forge ahead and get to the bottom of things.
“What’s really bothering you, Spike?” He asked, the kindness in his voice surprising even himself.
Spike sighed and squeezed his eyes closed, but all he saw was Buffy’s gravestone and the faces of his victims. “Don’t bloody well want to talk about it, Rupert. Now sod off and leave me be.”
“I see,” Giles replied, standing up. He stopped briefly to look at Spike while he put his hands in his trouser pockets. “Whatever is bothering you won’t depart until you come to terms with it.”
“You a psychiatrist now?” Spike asked, the sarcasm dripping from his words.
A thin smile crossed Giles’ lips as he bit down a retort. He had to remember that Spike was going through something that even he couldn’t fathom. “No, I just thought I would lend an ear. If you need to talk…”
Frowning, Spike rolled over on his back, put his arms behind his head – carefully avoiding what was left of the incision – and quirked an eyebrow questioningly. “Why’re you being nice to me now? A few hours ago you wanted me dead.”
“Yes, about that,” Giles started. Spike’s patented cockiness was back, whether he realized it or not. That’s when he remembered how much he disliked the vampire. However, Spike was no longer a vampire, he was human and as a human he deserved his help. “I overreacted. I shouldn’t have…”
“You did what anyone would have done in your position,” Spike stated, interrupting Giles’ apology. “Would have done it myself if I had half the stones.”
“Right. Setting that aside, I think you’re in some pain, Spike and…”
Spike snorted and then smirked. “You have no idea what I’m feeling.” Hell, he didn’t know what he was feeling. Guilt. Pain. So many other things at once, overwhelming his senses until all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry.
“I want to help,” Giles stated with the same compassion as earlier.
Why couldn’t the git just understand that he wanted to be left alone right now? This whole possible ‘goodness and light’ thing had him tied in knots, figuratively of course because real knots, that wouldn’t be good. He frowned. Where was his mind going? Closing his eyes, he mentally tried to pull himself together. This day had just been too overpowering for words. “You can’t help me. No one can.”
Giles studied Spike’s face, again trying to understand the depth of the man’s pain. He really did want to help him. He felt obligated to do so, especially if Spike was indeed the prophesied male slayer. “I think you’re wrong,” he stated quietly and evenly. “I think you want my help, or you wouldn’t have come here like you did.”
“Already told you why I came. Thought you’d kill me.” That bit was close to the truth, at least in some way. A part of him had wanted Rupert to hurt him, make him pay for the things he’d done, but at the same time he had come for answers as well. He decided that the answers he was getting were definitely not worth the trip. He should have just stayed in that cave and waited for the beast to eat him.
“Then you must be terribly disappointed that I didn’t.” Giles paused, mulling things over in his mind. When he received no response, he continued. “Spike, I could have killed you, but you stopped me, which tells me one thing, you want to continue to be a part of this world.”
Spike averted his eyes. It was true, something had snapped in him while Giles was beating him. He had wanted to live. Now that had changed though, after his dream. It had been a dream, right?
“What is it, Spike? What are you holding back?”
“Nothing,” Spike replied tersely, lowering his eyes.
“I can’t help you unless you let me! Please, let me help.” He paused. It sounded like he was begging to be let into Spike’s mind. That’s not how he wanted to come across. Hopefully, it hadn’t pushed Spike further away.
Sighing, he looked at the Watcher with hard, cold eyes. “I already said…you can’t help me. I’m beyond help. Get it now?”
“I think I do,” Giles replied softly. “You’re feeling a century of guilt and shame for the things the monster inside of you did. You’re not that monster anymore. You do realize that don’t you?”
Spike shrugged his shoulders in response, the motion causing him some discomfort.
“Answer me this, Spike. Why are you feeling the guilt now? Why now, when you’ve had the soul for however long it’s been?”
“Dunno,” Spike sighed. “I just know that I have to pay for what I’ve done.”
“What you’ve done to Buffy? Is that what triggered your guilt?”
“Yes…no.” He closed his eyes, breathing out hard through his nose. How could he explain this in terms that Giles would understand? “I just have to pay for it all, especially for the thing I neglected to do where Buffy is concerned and for the thing I…almost did.”
Giles sat down heavily in the chair by the window, leaning his elbow on the small table there and propping his head up with his hand. He was weary and frustrated. More weary than he had ever been in his life, or so it seemed. He sensed that there was something that Spike was withholding from him, something important, but he knew that pushing and prodding wasn’t going to get them anywhere more this evening. “Spike, if you don’t wish to discuss what’s troubling you, would you consider writing it down?”
“Writing it down? For what? So that you can hold it against me?” No way was he writing anything down. Words on paper were what got him into trouble that night Drusilla turned him. He hadn’t really written a lick of poetry since, at least none that anyone would ever find, mind you. Usually, when he’d felt the need to wax poetic, he’d grabbed a loose piece of paper, wrote what came to him, and then had taken his lighter to the parchment – making sure the evidence was nothing but ash.
“I mean something like a journal. If you don’t feel as if you can discuss your thoughts with anyone, at least put them down on paper – get them out in the open so that you can start healing your mind.”
Spike snorted. “A journal? You think I’m some poofter then, writing down my ‘feelings’? I’m not Angel you know.”
“No that you’re not, but you are brooding quite a bit like him.” Perhaps a different tact would bring Spike around to discussing things.
“Hey!” Spike shouted indignantly. “I’m not anything like Peaches. Nothing. And you’ll do well to remember that.” He paused for a moment. Come to think of it, he was behaving an awful lot like his grand sire. Sod it all. What was done was done. Hadn’t that always been his philosophy in life and unlife? There was nothing he could do about the past but... He sighed as his head spun. The thoughts buzzing around in his mind and the guilt that was weighing heavily on his conscience seemed to be more physically damaging than the chip had been. He had to do something; otherwise he was positive his head would implode. Maybe the Watcher’s idea of a journal wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Think it might help?” He asked, softening somewhat while doubting that anything short of death would heal his shattered spirit.
“I really do, if not I wouldn’t have suggested it,” Giles stated with a smile. Moving quickly, he got up out of the chair and left the room.
Spike frowned. “Where in bloody hell…?”
Giles returned to the room, a small notebook in one hand and a silver pen in the other. “Here,” he said, handing the book and pen to a very surprised Spike. “This should be sufficient enough to get you started. If you find that this helps, we’ll look into getting you a proper journal.”
“You weren’t kidding about this, were you?” Spike asked, shaking his head. “You expect me to start this now?”
“No, not immediately. You really should get some rest. You’ve had an incredibly trying day, to say the least.”
Spike began to page through the empty book as Giles commented, observing that it was just a normal, run of the mill notebook – nothing special – wire bound, the cover the color of pale green. The pen, however, was just absolutely splendid and must have cost a fortune. It was silver and sleek and felt like it belonged in his hand. He was so mesmerized by the writing implement that had Giles not cleared his throat, he felt he would have been lost in its trance forever. Looking up quickly and forcing a smile, he replied. “Yeah, guess you could say that. Wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I left Africa earlier today…”
“Right. I’ve been meaning to ask you – how did you find the ‘Iron Cauldron’? I’m almost positive that Bronwyn didn’t tell you where to find me.”
“She didn’t,” Spike responded as he noticed the inscription on the pen. His heart stopped. It was from her…and Dawn. Happy Father’s Day – B & D. He closed his eyes and turned his head, trying to shake the image of her face and answer Giles’ question. Pulling himself together, yet again, he opened his eyes and looked straight at the Watcher. “I was led there.”
Giles noticed Spike’s reaction to the inscription and silently chided himself for grabbing that particular pen. Of all the pens on his desk, he had to grab that one. Bloody stupid of you, he thought to himself. Ignoring Spike’s obvious discomfort, he pushed on. “You were led there? By whom?”
“Zareb.”
“Zareb was your guide in Africa, correct?”
“Yeah. Thought it was kinda strange to be seeing him in London, so I followed him and then he disappeared. Figured he went into the shop so that’s where I went.”
“Very interesting,” Giles stated. He needed to know more, but not tonight. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to pick this up again. “Spike, I want you to get some rest. If you feel up to writing tonight, then write – if not, sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day. You and I have much to discuss.”
“Suppose we do, Watcher,” Spike replied with a nod. He watched as Giles headed out the door. “Giles?” He started, before the door was closed.
Giles turned around to acknowledge his guest. “Yes?”
“Thank you,” Spike said, his tone serious. He wanted the Watcher to know that he was grateful for his help. Without him, he would be lost in this world.
Giles smiled to cover his surprise. This definitely wasn’t the same Spike that he knew in Sunnydale. “You’re quite welcome. Now get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right,” Spike replied as he settled back against the pillows again. Once he heard the door click shut behind Giles, he opened the notebook and stared at the white lined pages. Just where did one start with something like this? The beginning? The present? His feelings? He was overwhelming himself again. He was pretty sure that’s not what Giles had in mind when he handed him the book. Cursing silently to himself, he picked up the pen and began to write.
Spike slowly closed the journal after re-reading the entry. What he had written didn’t seem to make much sense, more like a madman’s ramblings than anything. Perhaps that’s what he was or what he was becoming. He certainly felt that way. And he did feel as if he was being split in two. He wasn’t Spike anymore but he wasn’t William either, Spike’s memories had seen to that. There was no way he would ever be one or the other again. If he was serious about continuing in this life, then he needed to figure out who he was, what his purpose was, otherwise he would slowly go insane – more insane than he felt right now.
Rolling over on his side and closing his eyes, he pulled his knees up into his chest as he clasped the journal to his body and began to weep. He just wanted the pain to stop and the guilt to ease, and he wanted Giles to get off the ‘male slayer’ idea fast. He wasn’t the male Slayer. He had been a monster; monsters don’t just become Slayers no matter if that thing in the cave deemed it so.
Not even realizing it, his body began to relax as exhaustion took over. His mind began to drift as he fell asleep. Suddenly, he was back in the desert from his earlier dream and Tara was there. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “You think you know…what’s to come…what you are. You haven’t even begun.”
He rolled over in his sleep and whimpered in response.
Go to chapter nine...
Rating: PG-13 Some language and violence
Disclaimer and spoiler warning: All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I’m just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset. Some lines taken from “Restless” written by Joss Whedon.
Summary: Spike has a hard time dealing with Giles’ theory…
Timeframe: Immediately following “Fairytales and Prophecies”
- 8 -
Denial Thy Name is Spike
Denial Thy Name is Spike
Spike sat in bed, stunned and confused. “I’m sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly as if it would help clear his mind. “Don’t think I heard you right.” There had to be some kind of mistake. He couldn’t be a male Slayer. Not him. No. He remembered being in Romania the first time he had heard rumblings about such a thing. His initial reaction was to hunt down and kill this warrior, like he was looking to do with the Slayer, but when he had asked Darla and Angel about it, they had informed him that it was nothing more than fairytales and legends told to keep fledgling vampires and the rest of the demon populace in line. A male Slayer just didn’t exist. Now he was hearing that it may not be a fairytale after all, and that he might be the fabled male Slayer. No. There was just no way.
“It’s just a theory, Spike,” Giles assured him as he fiddled with his glasses. For as many times as he played with his glasses out of nervous habit, it was probably best that he hadn’t given in to Buffy’s suggestions of getting contacts. If he had, whatever would he do with his hands? Placing his glasses back on his nose and clasping his hands in front of him, he continued with his thoughts. “However, that being said, there’s really no other explanation that I can find at the moment for what’s happening to you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m correct.”
Spike began to shake his head vehemently, highly agitated. “No, you’re wrong. I can’t be something good like that, not after all the terrible things I’ve done. Slayers have to be pure, untouched by evil, right?” His eyes pleaded with them to confirm this, but neither did. He became enraged. “I’ve murdered people. Scores of people! I staked my own mother for Christ’s sake! I don’t deserve anything good like this!” And he didn’t. Evil. The Big Bad. That’s him. Was him, he corrected himself, but in the end, he had still killed – he had still been a murderer.
Giles and Doc exchanged quick, worried glances. Both had expected the former vampire to be at least somewhat happy with the news. This was not the reaction they had been prepared for in the least. Giles spoke first, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking Spike in the eyes, as much as he would allow him.
“This is an extraordinary thing that’s happened to you, Spike, don’t you see that? And as for the Slayer being something untouched by evil, I’m afraid that what little we do know about the origins of the Slayer say something completely different…”
Spike continued to shake his head. No. He wasn’t accepting this. Never... He just couldn’t, especially when the images of his victims flashed through his mind. “Tell that to the innocents I've killed over the last century! Tell the wives, husbands and kiddies and whatnot that the bastard that killed their families was given a get outta the shitpile card, cause some demon in Africa decided to play God!"
Giles bowed his head. He should have suspected that Spike would experience something similar to what Angel had gone through once his soul had been returned, but something didn’t add up. Why was Spike only now going through the guilt when he’d had his soul for months? “Spike, please…”
Spike folded his arms across his chest and glared at Giles. “You're wrong, the pair of you… I'm not your 'male slayer'. You want to know what I think? I think you two should sod off and leave me to kip, seein' as how I've just had major surgery." He rolled on the bed, turning his back to the watchers. Male slayer! Just who were they trying to kid?
Giles didn’t move from his spot on the bed. He was not going to be dismissed so easily. “Spike? Spike look at me.” He demanded as he firmly gripped Spike’s upper arm and squeezed. “We’re not done here.”
Spike didn’t turn around. “Think we are, Watcher. Until there’s concrete evidence to back you up, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Aren’t you even the slightest bit intrigued by it?” Doc asked incredulously, taking several steps closer to the bed and trying to get Spike’s attention. “You can’t tell me that you aren’t excited or pleased…”
“I’ve already told you!” Spike snapped. “I’m not a bleedin’ male slayer. Get over it. Both of you.”
Giles looked up at Doc, the severity of the situation reflecting on his face. “Gerald, would you please give me and Spike a few moments alone?”
Doc looked from his friend, to the bed, and then back again, concern glimmering in his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite. We’ll be fine,” Giles stated with a small smile and quick nod. He needed to get to the bottom of what was really bothering his houseguest. He wasn’t concerned that Spike would do harm to himself, but he was worried about the man’s mental health, which seemed to be rapidly deteriorating.
“I think I’ll head on out for the evening then, Rupert. Please keep me apprised of the situation when you have a chance.” He then turned and purposely placed himself in Spike’s line of sight. “Do get some rest Mr. Spike. Everything will look better after a proper night’s rest, you’ll see.”
Spike continued to lay motionless on the bed, pretending that he heard nothing of what was being said. Silently he begged for them to leave him be, to let him feel his pain and guilt alone. They couldn’t help him. He had to carry this burden alone.
Sighing, Doc walked towards the door. “Goodnight, Rupert. If you need anything…”
“Right. I’ll ring you. Thank you again for everything.”
“My pleasure.” He bowed slightly and then left the room, closing the door behind him.
******
Once the older man left the room, Giles turned his attentions back to Spike. He took notice that the once mighty vampire now looked like nothing more than a scared child, huddling into himself under the blankets. He also took note that Spike’s skin looked sallow except for his cheeks, which burned bright red – more than likely from the events of earlier in the day than from his anger. Male Slayer or not, mystical healing powers or not, what Spike had been through this day was enough to wear down even the strongest person. Slowly, he reached out, his hand millimeters from Spike’s arm again, when he hesitated and pulled back. As much as Spike had changed, it would still take some time getting used to it all. Time to forge ahead and get to the bottom of things.
“What’s really bothering you, Spike?” He asked, the kindness in his voice surprising even himself.
Spike sighed and squeezed his eyes closed, but all he saw was Buffy’s gravestone and the faces of his victims. “Don’t bloody well want to talk about it, Rupert. Now sod off and leave me be.”
“I see,” Giles replied, standing up. He stopped briefly to look at Spike while he put his hands in his trouser pockets. “Whatever is bothering you won’t depart until you come to terms with it.”
“You a psychiatrist now?” Spike asked, the sarcasm dripping from his words.
A thin smile crossed Giles’ lips as he bit down a retort. He had to remember that Spike was going through something that even he couldn’t fathom. “No, I just thought I would lend an ear. If you need to talk…”
Frowning, Spike rolled over on his back, put his arms behind his head – carefully avoiding what was left of the incision – and quirked an eyebrow questioningly. “Why’re you being nice to me now? A few hours ago you wanted me dead.”
“Yes, about that,” Giles started. Spike’s patented cockiness was back, whether he realized it or not. That’s when he remembered how much he disliked the vampire. However, Spike was no longer a vampire, he was human and as a human he deserved his help. “I overreacted. I shouldn’t have…”
“You did what anyone would have done in your position,” Spike stated, interrupting Giles’ apology. “Would have done it myself if I had half the stones.”
“Right. Setting that aside, I think you’re in some pain, Spike and…”
Spike snorted and then smirked. “You have no idea what I’m feeling.” Hell, he didn’t know what he was feeling. Guilt. Pain. So many other things at once, overwhelming his senses until all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry.
“I want to help,” Giles stated with the same compassion as earlier.
Why couldn’t the git just understand that he wanted to be left alone right now? This whole possible ‘goodness and light’ thing had him tied in knots, figuratively of course because real knots, that wouldn’t be good. He frowned. Where was his mind going? Closing his eyes, he mentally tried to pull himself together. This day had just been too overpowering for words. “You can’t help me. No one can.”
Giles studied Spike’s face, again trying to understand the depth of the man’s pain. He really did want to help him. He felt obligated to do so, especially if Spike was indeed the prophesied male slayer. “I think you’re wrong,” he stated quietly and evenly. “I think you want my help, or you wouldn’t have come here like you did.”
“Already told you why I came. Thought you’d kill me.” That bit was close to the truth, at least in some way. A part of him had wanted Rupert to hurt him, make him pay for the things he’d done, but at the same time he had come for answers as well. He decided that the answers he was getting were definitely not worth the trip. He should have just stayed in that cave and waited for the beast to eat him.
“Then you must be terribly disappointed that I didn’t.” Giles paused, mulling things over in his mind. When he received no response, he continued. “Spike, I could have killed you, but you stopped me, which tells me one thing, you want to continue to be a part of this world.”
Spike averted his eyes. It was true, something had snapped in him while Giles was beating him. He had wanted to live. Now that had changed though, after his dream. It had been a dream, right?
“What is it, Spike? What are you holding back?”
“Nothing,” Spike replied tersely, lowering his eyes.
“I can’t help you unless you let me! Please, let me help.” He paused. It sounded like he was begging to be let into Spike’s mind. That’s not how he wanted to come across. Hopefully, it hadn’t pushed Spike further away.
Sighing, he looked at the Watcher with hard, cold eyes. “I already said…you can’t help me. I’m beyond help. Get it now?”
“I think I do,” Giles replied softly. “You’re feeling a century of guilt and shame for the things the monster inside of you did. You’re not that monster anymore. You do realize that don’t you?”
Spike shrugged his shoulders in response, the motion causing him some discomfort.
“Answer me this, Spike. Why are you feeling the guilt now? Why now, when you’ve had the soul for however long it’s been?”
“Dunno,” Spike sighed. “I just know that I have to pay for what I’ve done.”
“What you’ve done to Buffy? Is that what triggered your guilt?”
“Yes…no.” He closed his eyes, breathing out hard through his nose. How could he explain this in terms that Giles would understand? “I just have to pay for it all, especially for the thing I neglected to do where Buffy is concerned and for the thing I…almost did.”
Giles sat down heavily in the chair by the window, leaning his elbow on the small table there and propping his head up with his hand. He was weary and frustrated. More weary than he had ever been in his life, or so it seemed. He sensed that there was something that Spike was withholding from him, something important, but he knew that pushing and prodding wasn’t going to get them anywhere more this evening. “Spike, if you don’t wish to discuss what’s troubling you, would you consider writing it down?”
“Writing it down? For what? So that you can hold it against me?” No way was he writing anything down. Words on paper were what got him into trouble that night Drusilla turned him. He hadn’t really written a lick of poetry since, at least none that anyone would ever find, mind you. Usually, when he’d felt the need to wax poetic, he’d grabbed a loose piece of paper, wrote what came to him, and then had taken his lighter to the parchment – making sure the evidence was nothing but ash.
“I mean something like a journal. If you don’t feel as if you can discuss your thoughts with anyone, at least put them down on paper – get them out in the open so that you can start healing your mind.”
Spike snorted. “A journal? You think I’m some poofter then, writing down my ‘feelings’? I’m not Angel you know.”
“No that you’re not, but you are brooding quite a bit like him.” Perhaps a different tact would bring Spike around to discussing things.
“Hey!” Spike shouted indignantly. “I’m not anything like Peaches. Nothing. And you’ll do well to remember that.” He paused for a moment. Come to think of it, he was behaving an awful lot like his grand sire. Sod it all. What was done was done. Hadn’t that always been his philosophy in life and unlife? There was nothing he could do about the past but... He sighed as his head spun. The thoughts buzzing around in his mind and the guilt that was weighing heavily on his conscience seemed to be more physically damaging than the chip had been. He had to do something; otherwise he was positive his head would implode. Maybe the Watcher’s idea of a journal wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Think it might help?” He asked, softening somewhat while doubting that anything short of death would heal his shattered spirit.
“I really do, if not I wouldn’t have suggested it,” Giles stated with a smile. Moving quickly, he got up out of the chair and left the room.
Spike frowned. “Where in bloody hell…?”
Giles returned to the room, a small notebook in one hand and a silver pen in the other. “Here,” he said, handing the book and pen to a very surprised Spike. “This should be sufficient enough to get you started. If you find that this helps, we’ll look into getting you a proper journal.”
“You weren’t kidding about this, were you?” Spike asked, shaking his head. “You expect me to start this now?”
“No, not immediately. You really should get some rest. You’ve had an incredibly trying day, to say the least.”
Spike began to page through the empty book as Giles commented, observing that it was just a normal, run of the mill notebook – nothing special – wire bound, the cover the color of pale green. The pen, however, was just absolutely splendid and must have cost a fortune. It was silver and sleek and felt like it belonged in his hand. He was so mesmerized by the writing implement that had Giles not cleared his throat, he felt he would have been lost in its trance forever. Looking up quickly and forcing a smile, he replied. “Yeah, guess you could say that. Wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I left Africa earlier today…”
“Right. I’ve been meaning to ask you – how did you find the ‘Iron Cauldron’? I’m almost positive that Bronwyn didn’t tell you where to find me.”
“She didn’t,” Spike responded as he noticed the inscription on the pen. His heart stopped. It was from her…and Dawn. Happy Father’s Day – B & D. He closed his eyes and turned his head, trying to shake the image of her face and answer Giles’ question. Pulling himself together, yet again, he opened his eyes and looked straight at the Watcher. “I was led there.”
Giles noticed Spike’s reaction to the inscription and silently chided himself for grabbing that particular pen. Of all the pens on his desk, he had to grab that one. Bloody stupid of you, he thought to himself. Ignoring Spike’s obvious discomfort, he pushed on. “You were led there? By whom?”
“Zareb.”
“Zareb was your guide in Africa, correct?”
“Yeah. Thought it was kinda strange to be seeing him in London, so I followed him and then he disappeared. Figured he went into the shop so that’s where I went.”
“Very interesting,” Giles stated. He needed to know more, but not tonight. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to pick this up again. “Spike, I want you to get some rest. If you feel up to writing tonight, then write – if not, sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day. You and I have much to discuss.”
“Suppose we do, Watcher,” Spike replied with a nod. He watched as Giles headed out the door. “Giles?” He started, before the door was closed.
Giles turned around to acknowledge his guest. “Yes?”
“Thank you,” Spike said, his tone serious. He wanted the Watcher to know that he was grateful for his help. Without him, he would be lost in this world.
Giles smiled to cover his surprise. This definitely wasn’t the same Spike that he knew in Sunnydale. “You’re quite welcome. Now get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right,” Spike replied as he settled back against the pillows again. Once he heard the door click shut behind Giles, he opened the notebook and stared at the white lined pages. Just where did one start with something like this? The beginning? The present? His feelings? He was overwhelming himself again. He was pretty sure that’s not what Giles had in mind when he handed him the book. Cursing silently to himself, he picked up the pen and began to write.
******
My dearest Buffy,
Giles suggested that I start a journal, to put down my thoughts so that I could start to heal my mind, but I just don’t see the point. Healing. Do I deserve that? I guess that’s a loaded question. Anyway, I didn’t know where to start so I thought maybe I could use this to write to you since you are the only one that ever really understood me, or at least pretended to. I’m so confused, Buffy. You have no idea what I’ve been going through, but I suppose that’s being selfish of me when I know that you’ve been facing much bigger things back home. Home. It’s not my home anymore but I can’t stop thinking of it that way. I wish so much that I could see you again, to make sure that you are okay and to hold you in my arms…to never fail you again. But I know that it can’t be, that we can never be. I’ve done so much to you over the last few years that I finally understand what you mean when you tell me that you could never be my girl, that you could never love me. I’m a monster, Buffy, pure and simple. Even if the monster inside of me is gone, I still retain the memories of what he did, what he tried to do, and it eats me alive.
I’m human again, Buffy. Seriously, I am. It’s an incredible feeling. My heart beats, my lungs fill with air and I can walk out in the sun. I still think that one day I’m going to wake up and the sun will incinerate me – it would be deserved if it did though. After that night, I felt so much shame, so much guilt that I just couldn’t go on like I had been. I wasn’t really a vampire anymore but I wasn’t a man. I didn’t know what I was or where I belonged. I was this close to taking a walk in the morning light. But Clem showed up at my crypt after I had gotten back. Had he not been there, had he not listened to me and seen me struggle with the monster and the soul, I think I would have killed myself. So I went to Africa to face a demon that Clem had heard about. I survived the trials and asked for my soul. Problem was, I already had one. Not sure how that happened. Maybe I’ll never know. I suppose it doesn’t really matter right now. What does matter is that he made me a human and possibly something a little more than that. I hope for my sake that Giles is wrong about what I’ve become. I just don’t think I can deal with being a male Slayer. It’s too much pressure; especially after what I’ve done…what the monster has done to all those people. I’ve killed scores of people, Buffy, and I would have killed you too if it hadn’t been for something inside of me that kept me from doing it. I thought I belonged in the dark and that you belonged there with me, but you don’t and I don’t – at least not anymore. You changed me, Buffy. You made me realize that just because horrible things happen to you, that it doesn’t mean you have to be horrible because of it. You made me see the light and I love you all the more for it.
Giles would like me to explain why the guilt is only starting to flow now, despite the fact that I’ve had this bloody soul for months, but I can’t explain it. I don’t have the words. I suppose it has something to do with the vision (or dream) that I had after the operation. Yes, the chip is now gone. All obvious vestiges of my being a monster have been erased from this body. All but the memories, and they are slowly killing me. I wish I knew how to stop this horrible feeling, to make it go away, but I suppose it is my punishment. His punishment. Damn. I feel like I’m being split in two. There’s Spike and there’s William but I feel like I’m neither of them. Spike was the monster, William was a tosser and I’m not sure what or who I am. Will I ever find my way? Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me for what I’ve done to you? I hope you don’t. I don’t deserve it, you know. I tried to tell that to my victims in the dream(?) but they insisted I be forgiven. Can you imagine? Why would those whom I’ve killed want to forgive me for it? My mother was there as well. She looked so peaceful and beautiful. She forgave me for killing her, but I suppose that’s a story for another time.
I guess that’s all for now. I do love you, Buffy. More than I ever thought I could possibly ever love anyone. That’s why this has been so hard for me. I asked the creature in the cave to make me what you deserved, I guess that means you deserved a human who may or may not be this bloody male Slayer thing. I’ve already decided that I’m going to stay away from Sunnydale – forever – because that’s what you deserve.-S.
******
Spike slowly closed the journal after re-reading the entry. What he had written didn’t seem to make much sense, more like a madman’s ramblings than anything. Perhaps that’s what he was or what he was becoming. He certainly felt that way. And he did feel as if he was being split in two. He wasn’t Spike anymore but he wasn’t William either, Spike’s memories had seen to that. There was no way he would ever be one or the other again. If he was serious about continuing in this life, then he needed to figure out who he was, what his purpose was, otherwise he would slowly go insane – more insane than he felt right now.
Rolling over on his side and closing his eyes, he pulled his knees up into his chest as he clasped the journal to his body and began to weep. He just wanted the pain to stop and the guilt to ease, and he wanted Giles to get off the ‘male slayer’ idea fast. He wasn’t the male Slayer. He had been a monster; monsters don’t just become Slayers no matter if that thing in the cave deemed it so.
Not even realizing it, his body began to relax as exhaustion took over. His mind began to drift as he fell asleep. Suddenly, he was back in the desert from his earlier dream and Tara was there. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “You think you know…what’s to come…what you are. You haven’t even begun.”
He rolled over in his sleep and whimpered in response.
Go to chapter nine...
