Still Grrr

“I’m sorry… William.” Buffy then turned and left.

                Spike still couldn’t believe it. Over? Just like that? It couldn’t be.  He’d heard it all before, yes, but this time there was an air of true finality he just couldn’t ignore.  How could she? She didn’t have the right. What they had, what they shared… it was special. There was something raw about it, something animalistic and primal and, most of all, real. 

                A nagging little thought tugged at the back of his mind. Just give up, it said, she won’t love you no matter how hard you try, no matter how long you wait, or how many times you fucked.  You were just a convenient distraction, it said.

                NO! Spike couldn’t listen because the longer he listened the more his dreams unraveled and if that went on too long he would have to acknowledge the truth.

                Why couldn’t she see? Spike’s hands went to his head, his fingers digging into his temples.  His eyes squeezed shut. Why couldn’t she see him? He was dangerous, strong, passionate, and he loved her.  But she just wouldn’t….

                Spike grabbed fistfuls of peroxide blonde hair and fell to his knees. He let out a yell, moments of jagged, pained, frustrated sound. 

                He’d had it. No woman treats Spike like that, not even one he loves.  He stood himself up and lurched over to where he kept his weapons.  He picked through the mostly unharmed pile and grabbed a loaded pistol.  He was still Spike after all, chip or no chip he was a killer.

                It didn’t take long to get to her house. He regarded it from the outside a moment, remembering all at once the times he stood there, smoking and watching from the shadows, heartsick and wanting.  His fingers squeezed the pistol in his hand so tight his knuckles turned even whiter.  He walked in through the back door.

                Up the stairs, past the bedroom of the witch and the little bit.  He walked silently into her room.  The slayer lay sleeping peacefully, her face and angelic and her breathing full and deep.  His fingers reached out instinctively to stroke her cheek, but he stopped himself.  With his damned chip he couldn’t hurt a soul, except for her.  He aimed the pistol at her.  It would be so easy, just one twitch of the finger and she would be gone. Again.  So easy….

                His hand trembled.  He couldn’t do it.  He slowly brought the barrel up to his own temple.  Would she cry if she found his body in the morning? 

                He closed his eyes… And opened them. Buffy turned over in her sleep, facing him on her side.  Spike lowered the pistol.  No, there would be no bloodshed tonight. He turned and left, down the stairs and outside into the night.  He breathed deeply and leaned against the tree out front. 

                Spike took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it with his lighter.  He inhaled the smoke and the calm.  He smirked.  “You almost got me there, Slayer.” He said softly to the night.