Through A Mother's Eyes
"If I were hanged on the highest hill,
I know whose love would follow me still.
If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
I know whose tears would come down to me.
If I were damned of body and soul,
I know who prayers would make me whole.
Mother o' mine, O Mother o' mine."
To the inhabitants of Sunnydale, California, it had been a mere two nights since the town was released from a random bout of musical fever. People that had been singing and dancing openly in the streets about any and all topics were now once again walking sedately in the darkened streets, any thought of supernatural beings or events completely forgotten.
However, to the two figures currently standing in the middle of Restfield Cemetery, it was the cause of their current disagreement.
Platinum blonde hair shining in the moonlight, and blue eyes revealing the depth of his distress, the man flung out his arms agitatedly, the movement causing his long black leather duster to swirl around his lithe form.
'You can't just expect me to forget about this, Buffy,' he argued furiously. 'We kissed and we both knew what we were doing this time. All the spell did was make us sing about our feelings, it didn't give any to us.'
'It was just one kiss, Spike. That's all! This is the Hellmouth, remember? Weird things happen all the time. Just drop it all right.'
Frustrated, Buffy spun away from her companion, her stream of blonde hair lashing out and her green eyes tired and distraught.
'It bloody well was more than a soddin' kiss, Buffy,' Spike retorted angrily. 'Why can't you just admit that you felt something?'
'Damn it, Spike, just shut up.' Twisting back around, Buffy glared at the one person she had thought she could trust not to pressure her in any way. 'I'm the Slayer. You're a vampire. There is nothing and can be nothing between us.'
Scoffing indignantly, Spike pointed out, 'him being a vampire didn't stop you from goin’ and gettin' all snuggly with Angel.'
Buffy paused momentarily before defending herself with, 'he was different. He has a so-'
'God help me if you pull that soul line on me once more, Slayer,' Spike finally cried in aggravation. 'That soul of his doesn't mean squat. Angel or Angelus, they're the same bloody person, all that soul does is finally temper that vindictive streak in him. Doesn't matter what name he goes by, he's still a manipulative, self-absorbed ponce who only takes what he wants into consideration and sod everyone else.'
'Spike, I'm warning you...' Buffy held up her hand, a stake grasped between her deceptively delicate fingers.
Ignoring the threat, Spike, his pent up feelings finally released after months of rigid control, continued furiously, 'when you died, and your mates could've used his help, where was soulful Angel then? When Glory's followers were tearin’ up the town after you were gone, where was he? And who looked after the nibblet, and comforted her when she was found cryin’ over your grave in the middle of the night? Who protected your friends whilst they were on patrol, and guarded the Hellmouth without so much as a kind word, or even a bloody “thank you”? You want to know? Me! If a soul equals good then why the bloody hell wasn't the great poof here doing all that instead of me, the “evil, soulless thing”, who accordin’ to your precious scooby handbook is incapable of feelin’ anything apart from hatred. Which I have to say, luv, defies all the laws of nature. If a creature can feel one thing, they sure as hell can feel the complete opposite.'
Buffy's attempt to interrupt went unheeded as Spike, his emotions completely in control of him, revealed with brutal honesty, 'you think Angelus was incapable of feelin’ anything but hatred? Why do you think Darla could get him to do whatever she wanted most of the time? He loved her that's why, well, as much as he's capable of lovin’ anything, with or without a soul. After he got cursed he still came back to her like a devoted dog. But guess what? To Darla a soul was like a disease, and she kicked him out after she couldn't “cure him” as she put it. Ironic isn't it? The things different people love.'
His voice finally breaking off, Spike seemed more weary than relieved at having revealed his feelings so completely, and, with a disgusted shrug, he pivoted around on his heel.
'Not that you'll believe me anyway,' he muttered. 'Just pass it off as another one of Spike's delusional rants and say “who cares what he thinks, he's nothin’ but a soulless vamp after all”. Well, sod you and your bloody opinion! Go back to your scooby friends, pretend all is right with the world and dream of the broody ponce, and your happy ever after with the white picket fence. Hope the damn poof falls on it!'
Not waiting to see what effect this outburst may have had on the woman behind him, Spike took off into the night, his black duster flaring out behind him.
Stricken into momentary silence, Buffy remained motionless, her eyes filled with dismay and her free hand stretched out imploringly in front of her as her mouth whispered regretfully,