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The Crossing

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Spike prowled the streets desolately. The heels of his boots clicked against the wet asphalt, the leather coat billowing behind him for every brisk step he took. He walked aimlessly, did not know where to go, where to turn. Just away from the Summers family's residence, which was all that mattered, away from the pain....

Moonlight shone down through the wispy clouds, lending a pale light to the world, giving more than ample light for his keen sight to move into the shadowed graveyard. There was barely a breeze, and the air was warm. Yet Spike felt cold, colder than even a vampire should ever be allowed to feel, colder than death itself.

It was a perfect night for hunting, and he could sense the creatures of the night in the darkness, but he did not fear them. Nor did he seek them out. No longer able to join them, he suddenly wondered if he had spoken the truth when he had said that he didn't even wish to join them. Perhaps the chip had truly changed him?

He sighed, a reflexive motion he had not quite learned to rid himself of over the centuries, though he did not actually need oxygen anymore. Inhaling deeply would sometimes relax him, but not tonight. The events of this evening had been too...distressing, even for a poor, lonely vampire.

"I should bloody well give up women," he muttered to himself. "They just don't know how to appreciate me." Even Harmony, that clueless twit, had hurt him. Absently, Spike scratched exit wound from the arrow.

Yeah, he should just cut women out of his life, but how could he give them up? They were soft, entertaining...and warm, if they were alive, like Buffy. And she was certainly insidious. The blond bimbo had sneaked inside him like a virulent disease, until she filled every part of him. She was inside his non-beating heart, inside his throat, that clenched tightly every time he laid eyes on her. Not to mention his gut. God, he wanted her, he wanted to fuck her into the ground, pound her relentlessly until she begged for mercy...or release.

Spike kicked at a rock lying in front of him. It skittered across the grass, bouncing into a puddle of water. Watching the droplets splash to the sides, as if panicked by the unwelcome intruder, he suddenly felt sympathy for the rock. It was rejected, battered and alone, just like himself.

"You are pitiful!" he sneered to himself and knew it to be true. Yet it seemed completely outside his ability to change that fact.

He had been so sure, so bloody certain that the Slayer would give him at least a scrap to live on. Just some tiny little hope, even if it was simply a lie to save her own life. But she was too goody two-shoes to even do that. She wouldn't even lie to him to save her own life.

"Stupid bitch!" Spike jumped over the stonewall surrounding the graveyard, entering the woods beyond, not really sure where he was going.

He looked back upon Drusilla's actions, remembered his revulsion as he saw her transform, revealing her Game face. Was that how he looked to Buffy? He couldn't remember the last time he had shown the face of the beast before Buffy, but did that truly matter? She knew what he was, and she wasn't likely to ever forget. That he was a vampire was enough for her. Her duty, and her desire was only to push a pole of wood through his heart, and turn him into dust that scattered before the winds.

He shouldn't feel so hurt by this, but he did. Despite her hatred, he was convinced there was something between them, and he wanted her, wanted her with a fierceness he had never wanted even Drusilla.

He despised what he had become; weak, lonely, and unworthy. That insidious hope flared inside him when that...moron, what's his face, had left Buffy. Riley Finn, what a joke. Spike snorted. Riley was a weak human that couldn't even hope to measure up to the strength of a Slayer.

He could meet that strength and more if she would only let him. He would not break if she loved him too harshly.

"Bloody hell!"

Of course, he knew that the little minx would cut his throat at the first opportunity if given half a chance. But back in his Lair, she could have lied, damn it. She could have told him there was something to hope for. Even though he would have known it was a lie, it would have given him something to live for...well figuratively would have given him an excuse for his pathetic behavior, but of course, the evil wench only gloated. She loved seeing him begging for her, crawling before her delicate, but deadly feet.

"Fine! I'll stay away," he growled.

But then he halted, and stared back the way he came. Or maybe not... Spike hesitated. That was exactly what she wanted.

He should just continue to bug her, to wear her down, relentlessly.

She had after all only punched his nose hard enough to drive the bone into his brain. It had hurt like hell. Good thing he was already dead. She had only cast a spell that forbade him to enter her home. She had forcefully and irrevocably banished him from her existence, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was not wanted, not needed and that he would never be able to redeem himself in her eyes.

But the significance wasn't what she had done. The significance was what she hadn't done.

She hadn't turned him into dust.

Perhaps there was some hope after all.