157 - Juxtapose -See Me (1/1) - Spikesdeb - BtVS

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TITLE : See Me
PROMPT : #157 Juxtapose
AUTHOR : spikesdeb
RATING : PG
FANDOM : BtVS
CHARACTERS : Spike
DISCLAIMER : I wrote this, but the character and the canon isn't mine, more's the pity. Thanks to Joss et al for letting us play.
AUTHOR'S NOTE : Set pre-Crush in that interminable timespell where Spike wants Buffy but doesn't know what to do about it. Thanks to seductivembrace for tidying up my boo-boos.


SEE ME

Spike took another glug of whisky and pondered his future. Lack of future would be more apt. He lived in a crypt, was a vampire that couldn't kill and couldn't even rough somebody up for some cash.

Oh, and he was in love with the Slayer.

William the Bloody, slayer of slayers, was unable to think of anything else but Buffy Summers. Not Buffy Summers lying in a thickening pool of her heart's blood, no, not at all. All that filled his mind was images of Buffy Summers lying in his silk-sheeted bed covered in marks from his fangs, a satisfied smile on her beautiful face.

Hence the introspection, because honestly? What kind of life was that for a vampire?

Glass drained, Spike stood to pour another shot, then left the glass and grabbed the bottle. This was definitely turning into a night that would be improved immeasurably if viewed through an alcoholic haze. He really needed to numb himself so that it would stop. He just wanted it to stop.

Throwing himself down into the lumpy chair liberated from the dump to furnish his home, Spike tried hard to forget about the Slayer. It wasn't as if she was even his type. Look at Drusilla, his ripe wicked plum. Dark and ethereal, graceful and lean, with eyes pale as the moon and a mind like a bowlful of goldfish, flitting from one thing to another. Juxtapose that image with Buffy Summers, all golden limbs and shining blonde hair, tiny and compact with a killer kick and a single-minded focus on slaying. As different as chalk and cheese.

Yet he loved them both. Drusilla was long gone, obviously, and she probably wouldn't even look at him now that he had his electronic leash, and if the choice came to it he'd stake her to save Buffy. But he still loved her. She gave him a chance to break away from the dull anonymity of his previous life and helped shape him into what he had become.

“Miss you, baby,” Spike whispered as he drank some more, raising the bottle in silent salute. “Hope you're getting some wherever you are, not that you'll ever have it so good as me.” He chuckled, a hollow rumble devoid of mirth.

His thoughts shifted then to his current obsession. Where would she be right now, he wondered? With the holier-than-thou Scoobies, no doubt, thinking they were better than everybody else. Trouble was – Buffy really was better. She was the golden light in his eternal darkness, the one good thing in his entire existence.

And she didn't even give him a second glance. Now that he was de-fanged, she didn't even consider him a threat, which hurt more than he'd expected. They did say that hate was next door to love, and he'd take the hate if that meant she at least felt something for him. This lack of interest and disregard cut him deeply, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The now empty bottle was hurled at the wall with venom, a sharp blast of relief for his foul mood. But it didn't last. He had no more alcohol to hand and was doubtful he'd be able to rest without being stinking drunk. Spike figured he'd hit Willy's to grab some more booze, and who knew, maybe he'd find something he could hurt on the way to relieve some of his tension. A bit of torture wouldn't go amiss, providing the something was a demon and wouldn't set off his pain zapper. Tie the bloody thing up and go to town on it.

Now, he mused, as he made his way out of the cemetery, wouldn't that be a fine idea, if he could only work out how to do it. Tie up the Slayer and make her see that he loved her. Yeah, that might work. At least planning that would keep his mind off the utter futility of his life. With a new spring in his step he shrugged his duster closer and strode to Willy's, his imagination painting pretty pictures of debauchery and a naked Slayer trussed up in chains.