Five Six Things Spike Stole After He Got a SoulAuthor:
Um, older teen for cursing and one really terrible innuendo? Pairing:
Slash, and I use the word "erection" once. Oh, and some curse words. That's about it.Spoilers:
Through season 7 of Buffy and season 5 of Angel. Oh, and the comics? Not in my universe.Summary:
Even after he got a soul, Spike stole things, but these ones were a bit different. Ended up a bit schmaltzy and angsty, but it's what came out.Disclaimer:
I hired a pack of ninjas to kidnap Joss; he was threatened with hot poker torture and chainsaws so I could meet the real him. I now own all. Thank you. *Doctor's Note: Patient exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership are pure fantasy. No harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.*Beta:
The most glorious suki_blue! I love her....Author's Note:
Written for fall_for_sx, a community dedicated to the joy that is Spander.
Everyday he saw them, the changing, blurred faces that he couldn't recognize until he pictured them covered in blood. The weight of his sins pressed down on him, memories of death and screams plaguing his sleeping and waking thoughts. But while memories of the destruction he'd caused haunted him, something else hurt more. Every minute, he could feel it, a constant ache that would turn agonizing when loneliness closed in. All his demon had ever wanted was to belong and to possess. But without his demon in control it was so easy for him to see that he'd never had anyone's love, and the voices inside told him he never would. The realization couldn't be avoided:
He was alone.
His pain was always exacerbated when he remembered the way Tara and Willow looked at each other, the way their love seemed to make all else fade in comparison. He would think on the way Xander hugged his friends, cradling them to his chest as though seeking to protect them with nothing more than his will. It was love in its purest, greatest form, something Spike had never had. He'd been able to handle that when he didn't have a soul, because while he did love Buffy, it was darker; as long as he had her, he didn't need her to love him back. But now his longing to be loved was now almost as strong as his craving for blood. The need to have someone that truly loved him, one that he could love with all his being, twisted at his heart. All he wanted was someone to look at him as though he were the center of their existence. Yet his soul showed him the truth: he was a monster, one that could never have what he so desired.
One afternoon, nightmares once again woke him up. But instead of going to watch t.v., he started searching though Xander's belongings. After all, in some ways, he was still the Spike everyone remembered. And Spike did enjoy discovering the secrets that people vainly tried to hide. So he went through Xander's drawers, looked in the closets and dug through old papers. Under the bed he found a tattered cardboard box. He pulled it out and opened it, finding old pictures of Xander and Willow, along with another boy. There were also old comic books, bits of plastic and ticket stubs, but under everything else was an old tee shirt, neatly folded. It was the tee shirt worn by the other boy in one of the pictures, now a cherished memento. Whoever this boy was, Xander had loved him, still loved him. Spike ran his fingers over the soft fabric, the screams in his head quieting.
Replacing all but the shirt, he carefully put the box back where he'd found it. Clenched in his fist, he carried the shirt into his room. With hours until sun down, Spike curled up under the blankets and stuffed the shirt under his pillow. Gently, he tugged out a small corner and pressed his nose against it. The odor was stale, old. And Spike wondered if this was what love smelled like.