Spike managed his wheelchair into an alley in search for some lost soul to eat. Ever since the demise of his grandsire and the death of beloved, Drusilla, he’d been left to his own devices. All because of that blasted Slayer. Spike snorted. Angel—the bloody poofter—had lost his soul thanks to the diminutive slayer, and look what that led to. Death by her hand, dust in the wind. Spike shook his head. He didn’t want to be thinking about her.
In all his preoccupation Spike didn’t even see the plastic garbage bag before it had managed to tangle itself around the wheel of his chair. “Bugger.”
After a few seconds of effort he managed to get the bag off. It was as he was preoccupied with the plastic interference that he failed to hear the footsteps closing in behind him.
Oh great, she thought. The last vampire I wanted to see. Not that I wanted to see any vampire at all of course.
“Hello Spike,” Buffy greeted.
Spike swirled around in his wheelchair as fast as he could. Not being entirely adept with his ‘wheels’ it made his reaction less deadly and clumsier looking than he’d been shooting for. “You fucking bitch,” he snapped angrily. “You’ve ruined my life!”
Buffy took a step back, clearly shocked by his angry outburst. The last time she saw him they’d agreed to a pact, Spike would keep Drusilla and the minions away while she fought Angel. Then he would take Drusilla and leave town. Buffy guessed that he didn’t keep that end of the bargain.“What the hell have I done?” she asked, her mouth open wide.
“First of all, you made me a bloody cripple.” Spike rolled his eyes, as if it should’ve been obvious. “And then you go and dust the love of my un-life!”
“Angel was the love of your un-life?” Buffy looked at him, almost amused, with a raised eyebrow. A flash of that fatal day came to her.
Buffy delivered a high kick to Angel’s chest and he stumbled back… There was a tree behind him. A tree with a sharp pointed branch. It pierced his heart and before he could even understand what had happened he was dust floating in the wind. Buffy sank down to her knees gasping for air as she cried her heart out.
Buffy snapped back to reality when Spike answered her.
“No you daft bint, Dru!” Spike rolled closer to her, his exasperation growing. “One of these days I’m going to…” The sentence hung unfinished in the air, but that didn’t stop Spike from continuing to dream about the day he’d sink his fangs into the column of her neck. I’m going to rip your throat out.
You’re going to what… Buffy thought, before the gravity of his earlier words sunk in. “Dru’s dead?” Buffy blinked in surprise.“I’m sorry,” Buffy said quietly, her gaze falling to her shoes.
Spike gaped in surprise. “What did you just say?”
“I’m sorry,” Buffy repeated. “I know how much she meant to you and I know how it feels to lose someone you love. What I don’t understand is why you think I dusted her.”
“She became insane –” At Buffy’s raised brow Spike rolled his eyes, amending his statement. “More insane than she already was – when you staked Angelus. She walked right out in the sunshine.” Spike clenched his fists, completely blaming his Dark Princess’ death on the blonde Slayer. But he couldn’t be keep up the righteous indignation at the Slayer when she was all teary eyed and worn out. The fact he was being lenient, the fact he had even noticed her exhaustion—it scared the hell out of him. He should be draining her blood, not having a bloody conversation with her. “Well, I suppose we should try and kill each other now,” Spike suggested, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that rested between them.
“I guess so,” Buffy agreed, but didn’t move.
Spike could see her apathy and it frightened him. Where had the Slayer filled with fire and passion disappeared to? All that was left before him was an empty shell. It was all because of his poncey former grandsire. Apparently he had said horrible things to Buffy the morning after they bumped groins with each other. And then he had come to Spike and Drusilla and spilled all the details whilst trying to scrub the slayer’s scent and touch from his skin. It was a sure thing that Spike hated the Slayer, but he didn’t want her to be broken. At least not by anyone that wasn’t him.
“Maybe we can fight another time,” Buffy suggested, kicking at an empty can with one of her feet. “You know, when you’re out of the wheelchair and it’s fair.” Buffy really didn’t want to be around Spike anymore. He reminded her of things, very bad things.
“And when you have some of your fire back,” Spike added before he could stop himself. He could either continue quickly, cover his concern, or he could say what he really thought.
“Sure thing.” He paused. “He never deserved you, you know. Old sod has always been an ass, even with the soul. He was just better at hiding it with one.” Spike turned around the wheelchair rolling out of the alley leaving Buffy to look after him.
Buffy was in shock. Had Spike actually been nice to her? She shrugged and walked out of the alley in the opposite direction, wanting and needing to get away from Spike.