His wounds had finally healed, but, as Buffy watched him crouching in a corner of the basement, flicking his zippo lighter on and off, seemingly mesmerized by the flame, she knew that something much worse had happened to him than the physical torture by The First and Turokhan.
She had thought his insanity was caused by The First screwing around with him, with the trigger and being forced to kill, and that once that stopped, he'd be all right.
But, he wasn't. He was still broken.
As she watched him from her position three steps up, hands clasped on her knees, eyes burning with intensity, she remembered his actions in the church--embracing the cross and letting himself burn.
That had been because of the soul.
The soul was what had driven him insane. The First had just added to his torment. The soul that he'd fought for was destroying him.
The soul he'd fought for because of her.
Compassion--something she rarely let herself feel anymore, so caught up in the preparation for the coming battles and trying to raise her sister and earn enough money to feed the growing household--welled up inside her and she turned away from him, lowering her eyes to her hands before closing them to hold in the sudden tears.
And Spike began to murmur. "'Batter my heart, three-personed god; for you as yet but knock, breath, shine and seek to mend...'"
Blinking away the tears, Buffy looked back at him and saw him watching her from narrowed, shrewd eyes, and she felt herself flush from the intensity of his gaze. The obvious devotion always made her want to squirm, but she forced herself to stay still and accept it.
It seemed to help him when she wasn't uncomfortable around him.
Rising to her feet, she took the three steps down, then crossed the floor to sit in front of him. "What did you say?"
"Poem, one of my mum's favorites. I think about her a lot these days." His gaze drifted away from her and sank back onto his heels. "John Donne's Holy Sonnet 14. It's all about God. I have a soul now. I have to think about God."
"I don't," she admitted, drawing his eyes back to her as she shrugged. "Too many other things to think about, and, remember, I've been to heaven. Dunno if God actually exists, though."
"He has to," Spike stressed in growing agitation. "The soul has to come from somewhere. The torment of memories have to be for a reason. I have to atone. I have to keep atoning forever and ever." He pressed his fists to his temples and rocked on his heels. "I've done so much wrong. I hurt so many. Killed, oh God, killed and killed. All those people, all those women. You."
Buffy started and reached out to pull his hands from his head before he started beating on himself as he'd done too many times in the days since she'd rescued him. "Spike, you didn't kill me."
"Worse," he mumbled, ducking his head, eyes on the floor. "Nearly...nearly..." He shook his head wildly. "And I've done it before, so many times. Angelus and I, storming across the face of the world, taking what and whom we wanted, not caring if they hurt and died, if they cried and begged, not caring if they were children for fuck's sake! How can I ever make reparation for that? The worst crime a man can commit, worse than murder." Tears filled his eyes and he curled into himself, unnecessary breaths hitching in sobs.
Helpless in the face of his internal struggle, Buffy simply sat quietly and waiting for this latest storm to pass. They came and went quickly these days, and within five minutes, he was playing with his lighter again, intently watching the flame.
"Why do you do that?" she asked, truly curious.
He looked up at her, confusion on his face, and snapped the lighter closed. "Dunno. I...really don't." He frowned and pocketed the zippo, then rose to his feet and leaned against the wall, the chains he insisted on wearing clinking against the concrete. Buffy rose with him, sticking her hands in her back pockets and watching him closely.
Since she'd brought him back here, broken and bleeding, the only violence he'd committed had been against himself, but she was glad he'd been the one to ask to be chained. She wanted to trust him, but as long as he was insane, she couldn't.
At least not with Dawn and all the Potentials.
With herself...?
A rather sad feeling filled her and a ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Bad times are coming, Spike. You know that, right?" At his nod, she continued, "I need a fighter at my side, someone I trust, someone I know will keep me going even when I see only futility in it."
As realization at what she was leading towards sank in, Spike began to shake his head. "No, Slayer, no. Can't be me. I can't be relied on."
"You can always be relied on...by me. I've known that for a long time." Hesitantly she reached out a hand and laid it over his heart. "It took me a long time to accept that you loved me, and even longer to trust that, but then you sacrificed everything for me, and how could I deny you any longer?"
"Because it's the right thing for you to do," he stressed, trying to shake off her hand and frowning as she pressed it harder. "Natural enemies we are."
"Not anymore. I finally learned that even though you showed me time and time enough. Protecting my mom and sister, taking care of Dawn the summer I was...gone, fighting by me and my friends, letting yourself get beaten and tortured by Glory and The First."
"None of them equal..." He dropped his eyes in shame and watched her hand moving in slow circles against his chest.
"You tried to force yourself on me. You wanted me to love you and thought that would work," she replied quietly.
His voice was a moan as he responded. "Wrong, so completely wrong."
"Yeah, but your demon was in charge, and what did you do after that? You went and fought for your soul. You knew what you'd done was wrong, even the demon did."
"Knew what I'd done was wrong, but thought...thought..." He broke that train of thought and shook his head helplessly. "I know forgiveness is out of the question. I knew that even then. But I thought the soul would help me be a better man, a man you might want. It was selfish."
"It was unheard of, Spike. A vampire willingly seeking his soul? Never done before, as far as the Watchers' records show. Do you think Angelus would ever do that? Or Darla or Drusilla?"
"Drusilla might for a lark, but...yeah, not the others. No others I ever knew."
"So, why are you different?"
Spike raised his head enough to meet her solemn gaze and snorted. "Slayer, if I knew that, I'd have all the answers to every question I've ever asked about myself. Always too tender, too loving. No matter how much Angelus tried to beat it out of me, my heart was always there. I loved Dru for over a hundred years. It was real."
Buffy nodded in agreement. "I know. I saw it. Kind of perverse at times, but, it was real. I tried to deny that you were different from all the others, that you could love, but my mom and Dawn saw it."
"Your mum was a good woman, understood me when no one else even tried, and the niblet..." He sighed again and slumped more against the wall. "You were the one I tried to hurt and yet she's the one who hates me. Gotta fix that somehow."
"She's young and doesn't understand the relationship we had, and, believe me, I'm not trying to explain it to her. I have enough trouble explaining it to myself."
"Thought it was what you needed at the time," Spike mumbled, breaking her gaze and slipping back into his crouch. "Wrong again, wrong, wrong, wrong. Hurt you."
Buffy felt something in her chest tighten in sympathy and concern and she dropped back down in front of him again. "Spike, please don't do this. I need you rational."
"Crazy. Bug eating crazy."
"That doesn't help me!"
"Can't help you, Buffy. Can't even help myself. It comes and goes, my sanity, but never stays long enough to be of any help to anyone. I can hear them again, in my head, crying in pain and fear. I loved that...once. The memories of my kills." Letting his eyes drift away from her, he reached out as if to touch someone. "Pretty girls crying, tears mixing with blood as I gouge out their pretty eyes..."
As he buried his face in his hands and started to rock again, he murmured, "'Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor chaste, except you ravish me.'"
Watching him slipping from lucidity again, Buffy blinked back frustrated tears and sat quietly, waiting for this episode to pass like all the others, and trying to come up with a new tactic to try.
When Spike looked up at her and blinked, she took his cheeks in her hands and leaned forward to kiss him.
Maybe this would work...
End