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Well, this is how I handled today's devastating spoilers. Set after ep 21. If you aren't spoiled, don't read.
Spike had a choice to make. As he stood there, frozen, shocked, sick, terrified, disgusted, horrified, stunned, each possibility flashed within his mind. It could have been seconds or hours, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He had a decision to make.
As the First prattled on his ear, whispering decadent promises of bloodshed and pain, as the light in his life kissed the one person he hated more than anything, as Caleb’s blood spread and pooled at his feet, as the world crumbled around him, Spike ran through each scenario.
He could dust Angel. He could dust Angel and while Buffy was still too shocked to move, snap her neck. He could walk away. He could go back to the house and act as though nothing happened. He could join up with the First—it was right fucking there, waiting for his ultimate decision. He could get drunk. He could run away. He could scream, cry, shout, yell, curse. He could collapse, to overcome with pain to support his own weight. He could stake himself. He could end it all one way or the other.
Spike understood that how he reacted in that moment could shape the rest of his life, no matter how long had left on this mortal coil. He always acted too big, without thought. And he understood, somehow, that that could all change at that moment. Maybe it was the soul, maybe it was the newfound self-respect, maybe it was the anger clarifying everything to a crystal point, hanging there, waiting to be shattered. But he was going to do it right this time.
If he killed Angel, several of his problems would be solved. A century of pain and resentment would be wiped clean. He would be vindicated for the humiliation, the jealousy, the horrible inferiority complex that plagued him because of the way he suffered at the hands of Angelus. Spike had dreamed countless times of finally ridding the world of the sanctimonious prick, but there was empathy there now. Angel’s pain was his pain, and no matter how angry he was, there was no denying that.
If he killed Buffy, the victory would be sweet, but extremely short-lived. It would pass so quickly, it would become only a bitter, fleeting memory. The betrayal was the worst, but she hadn’t made him any promises, had she? No, she never promised him anything. And he had lived in a world without Buffy, and no matter how much he hated her at that moment, he couldn’t do it again. The world was a dark and lonely place without her, and even the memory of her death was enough to tear his heart apart and make his soul scream.
The First was still standing right there. The First wanted him in a way that nobody had before—but in the exact way they all had before. The First would use him and kill him, and in the end, wasn’t that everybody’s master plan for Spike? He didn’t need that shit from the Ultimate Evil—he had plenty of people waiting to torture and kill him. Fuck it, he wasn’t so fucking twisted and depraved that he would murder the entire world because Buffy destroyed him. He had never been that twisted and depraved. He liked this world. Even the pain.
But could he really pretend that nothing was wrong? Could he fight along side of her, when every glance at her would be enough to kill him a million times? No, he could not. He gave and he gave and he gave and he didn’t have anything else left to give. Not without drawing a bit of strength from her, but she wasn’t willing to give him anything. He would fight the First with Buffy and her band of buggered, but he didn’t have anything left to fight with.
Spike only had one option, and he knew it. He would leave. Buffy had her soulled vampire to fight the Big Bad, she had the other slayer and the girls and Willow, she would be fine. A part of Spike raged at the thought of leaving. He couldn’t give up! He fucking promised that he would stay, promised that he would help. The simple fact that he hadn’t left up to this point was his promise. He may have no pride left but he had some integrity. He couldn’t just abandon her!
But he wasn’t abandoning anybody. She didn’t need him. She would be fine without him. And that was it in a nutshell. He couldn’t kill them and they wouldn’t kill him, but nobody would be able to pretend that anything was ok.
Buffy broke the kiss just as Spike turned to walk away. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, and frantically called his name. But he didn’t turn around. She will be fine, she will be fine, he repeated to himself over and over, using the mantra to drown out the sound of her voice. He quickened his step and lengthened his stride, determined to be out of town before the sun rose to cut him down.
She called after him, even ran after him, but he couldn’t stop or turn around. He didn’t want to hear her excuses or her explanations. He didn’t want to promise to remain to risk his life. He didn’t want to see the smug superiority in Angel’s eyes. He was done. Heartbroken and alone, he walked until her voice no longer echoed in his ears.
Spike had a choice to make. As he stood there, frozen, shocked, sick, terrified, disgusted, horrified, stunned, each possibility flashed within his mind. It could have been seconds or hours, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He had a decision to make.
As the First prattled on his ear, whispering decadent promises of bloodshed and pain, as the light in his life kissed the one person he hated more than anything, as Caleb’s blood spread and pooled at his feet, as the world crumbled around him, Spike ran through each scenario.
He could dust Angel. He could dust Angel and while Buffy was still too shocked to move, snap her neck. He could walk away. He could go back to the house and act as though nothing happened. He could join up with the First—it was right fucking there, waiting for his ultimate decision. He could get drunk. He could run away. He could scream, cry, shout, yell, curse. He could collapse, to overcome with pain to support his own weight. He could stake himself. He could end it all one way or the other.
Spike understood that how he reacted in that moment could shape the rest of his life, no matter how long had left on this mortal coil. He always acted too big, without thought. And he understood, somehow, that that could all change at that moment. Maybe it was the soul, maybe it was the newfound self-respect, maybe it was the anger clarifying everything to a crystal point, hanging there, waiting to be shattered. But he was going to do it right this time.
If he killed Angel, several of his problems would be solved. A century of pain and resentment would be wiped clean. He would be vindicated for the humiliation, the jealousy, the horrible inferiority complex that plagued him because of the way he suffered at the hands of Angelus. Spike had dreamed countless times of finally ridding the world of the sanctimonious prick, but there was empathy there now. Angel’s pain was his pain, and no matter how angry he was, there was no denying that.
If he killed Buffy, the victory would be sweet, but extremely short-lived. It would pass so quickly, it would become only a bitter, fleeting memory. The betrayal was the worst, but she hadn’t made him any promises, had she? No, she never promised him anything. And he had lived in a world without Buffy, and no matter how much he hated her at that moment, he couldn’t do it again. The world was a dark and lonely place without her, and even the memory of her death was enough to tear his heart apart and make his soul scream.
The First was still standing right there. The First wanted him in a way that nobody had before—but in the exact way they all had before. The First would use him and kill him, and in the end, wasn’t that everybody’s master plan for Spike? He didn’t need that shit from the Ultimate Evil—he had plenty of people waiting to torture and kill him. Fuck it, he wasn’t so fucking twisted and depraved that he would murder the entire world because Buffy destroyed him. He had never been that twisted and depraved. He liked this world. Even the pain.
But could he really pretend that nothing was wrong? Could he fight along side of her, when every glance at her would be enough to kill him a million times? No, he could not. He gave and he gave and he gave and he didn’t have anything else left to give. Not without drawing a bit of strength from her, but she wasn’t willing to give him anything. He would fight the First with Buffy and her band of buggered, but he didn’t have anything left to fight with.
Spike only had one option, and he knew it. He would leave. Buffy had her soulled vampire to fight the Big Bad, she had the other slayer and the girls and Willow, she would be fine. A part of Spike raged at the thought of leaving. He couldn’t give up! He fucking promised that he would stay, promised that he would help. The simple fact that he hadn’t left up to this point was his promise. He may have no pride left but he had some integrity. He couldn’t just abandon her!
But he wasn’t abandoning anybody. She didn’t need him. She would be fine without him. And that was it in a nutshell. He couldn’t kill them and they wouldn’t kill him, but nobody would be able to pretend that anything was ok.
Buffy broke the kiss just as Spike turned to walk away. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, and frantically called his name. But he didn’t turn around. She will be fine, she will be fine, he repeated to himself over and over, using the mantra to drown out the sound of her voice. He quickened his step and lengthened his stride, determined to be out of town before the sun rose to cut him down.
She called after him, even ran after him, but he couldn’t stop or turn around. He didn’t want to hear her excuses or her explanations. He didn’t want to promise to remain to risk his life. He didn’t want to see the smug superiority in Angel’s eyes. He was done. Heartbroken and alone, he walked until her voice no longer echoed in his ears.
From: (Anonymous)
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