1. All Sales Final
Buffy stood at the door of the dark underground
room she had left a few hours earlier, hesitating – suddenly very
unsure whether or not she wanted to open it and go back inside.
By doing so, she would not only be going into a rather creepy section
of the new Sunnydale High’s basement – she would also be stepping into
a dark, painful part of her past to which she had vowed never to return
again.
The part containing Spike.
*Actually, that’s a pretty big part, Buffy…be a little more specific
why don’tcha?*
The Slayer swallowed hard, staring down at her white knuckles locked
around the doorknob, though apparently lacking the strength and courage
to push it open. Her throat was dry, and swallowing painful, and to her
dismay, she found suddenly that her vision was blurring slightly. She
raised her free hand to swipe at the tears angrily, drawing her hand
away from the knob and turning her back on the door in a swift,
decisive motion.
*It’s not cowardice,* she told herself firmly. *It’s not like I’m
scared of Spike anyway. It’s not like he can hurt me, really. Not
anymore. Not – not like he is now…*
Her footsteps slowed to a reluctant halt, and she drew in a deep
breath, her back still turned to the door.
“Admission gate’s this way.”
Buffy started, whirling around in surprise at the sound of the deep,
painfully familiar voice that suddenly echoed in the hall behind her.
She froze, unable to keep herself from staring. He looked so
different…and yet, in some ways, he hadn’t changed at all.
His clothes were dirty and ragged, as was his strangely disheveled
hair, now revealing more than an inch of dark roots that the old Spike
she had known before would never have allowed to be seen. Familiar eyes
of crystal blue stared back into hers with a sort of blank detachment
that…well, that part *was* new.
“Forget your ticket?” Spike asked her matter-of-factly. “Gotta have it
to get in.”
An uneasy, sick feeling began in the pit of Buffy’s stomach, as she was
reminded of the most obvious difference between the vampire standing
before her now, and the creature he had once been.
This Spike was quite insane.
“Gotta be quick, too…gotta be smart,” he continued, oblivious to her
curious eyes as she watched him carefully. “Sometimes they don’t let
you in…even if you’ve got it. Sometimes…your ticket’s not good enough,
yeah? Not good enough…not nearly good enough…”
He was pacing the hall in front of her, his eyes averted now, his voice
low and trembling slightly as he ran a shaking hand through his dirty
blonde hair every few seconds in a nervous gesture that was so very
un-Spike-like that it nearly brought tears to Buffy’s eyes…though why
she should want him to have his old confidence-bordering-on-arrogance
back again was a mystery to her, after what he had done.
*Because you got yours back, didn’t you? Even after what *you* did,* a
small voice in her mind that had become very familiar over the past few
months accused her, before demanding impatiently, *Say something,
idiot!*
“Spike…” Buffy hardly recognized her own voice, hoarse and distant and
choked with tears – though for which of them they were shed, she could
not be sure.
The blond vampire stopped his pacing, looking up at her through wide,
shocked eyes, and it occurred to Buffy to wonder how long it might have
been since he had heard his own name…where he might have been all this
time…what might have happened to him, to take his very sanity.
Slowly, cautiously, Buffy took a step toward him…and that seemed to be
the motion that galvanized him into action.
Spike lurched backward in obvious alarm, shaking his head vigorously
and holding his hands out in a warding off sort of gesture. “No, no,
he’s not here…not him. Wasn’t me…he did it…not here now, though…”
“Spike,” Buffy tried again softly, still moving cautiously toward
him…but his next words stopped her in her tracks, chilling her blood
with sudden apprehension.
“Wasn’t me…*he* hurt the girl…”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took another step forward, not so
concerned this time with whether or not she frightened him.
“Hurt what girl, Spike?” she demanded, her voice taking on a hard edge,
her heart sinking with dread of what his answer might be. “What girl
did you hurt?”
“Didn’t, wouldn’t hurt her…wouldn’t ever…don’t know why…” Spike
insisted incoherently, backing up rapidly until his back was to the
door. “Don’t know why he did it, why he hurt her…”
“*Spike*!” Buffy cut him off sharply, moving quickly to close the
distance between them now, her fears making her impatient with his
frightened, confused ramblings. “Spike, *who* did you hurt?”
As she neared him, Spike flinched, dropping to a crouch, raising his
hands to shield his head as he shook it rapidly, rocking slightly back
and forth against the wall.
“Bad…wicked…evil boy…must be punished…can’t be allowed to hurt the
girl…to treat her that way…oughta know better…”
“Spike!” Buffy snapped as she reached him, her residual fears fading in
her urgency to find out what he had done. She grabbed his arms and
yanked down the shield he had formed of them, crouching in front of him
and leaning forward until there was only inches between them to demand,
“What have you done? What girl did you hurt? *Look at me*! *Who did you
hurt*?”
Strangely obedient for once, Spike raised his eyes to meet hers as she
had commanded, and there was a startled look on his face, as if he was
only seeing her for the first time. His head tilted slightly as he
stared at her wonderingly for a long moment, before finally whispering
a response.
“Her…it was her…”
Buffy recognized immediately that by “her”, what he really meant was
“you”. She was the only one in the room with him, and his gaze was
locked onto hers as he spoke – which meant that he could only be
referring to one thing.
The one thing she wanted more than anything else to forget.
She released him suddenly, rising to her feet and taking a couple
hurried steps backward, staring down at him in shock and dismay.
“Right…mustn’t touch, mustn’t, not hardly good enough…” Spike muttered,
his head bowed, his arms folded across his chest defensively as he
rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet for a few moments before
suddenly looking her in the eyes again, his own eyes wild and intense.
“You should wash,” he informed her severely. “You’re contaminated.
Mustn’t touch the unclean thing…lest you be defiled yourself…you’d
better go and wash, wash his filth off you…”
Buffy’s mind was racing with a million thoughts at once, and it took
her a few moments to register that he was talking about himself. But
his actual words were so strange, and the depth of broken emotion in
his voice, the shame and guilt she heard in his trembling tone…
None of it made any sense.
*Vampires don’t feel guilt...*
*But he loved you…surely he *had* to feel…*
*It was just obsession…he never really loved you…he’s a vampire, he’s
not sorry for what he did…*
Buffy shook her head, trying to clear it of the mental argument she was
having with herself, and focused once more with an effort on the
trembling blond vampire, huddled on the floor against the far wall.
Despite all she had been taught to the contrary, she knew what it was
she was seeing.
Spike was wrestling with guilt and regret for what had happened between
them the year before.
*But…if he’s feeling guilt…*
She frowned. Despite her desire to simply turn and walk away as quickly
as she could, she found herself moving toward him again, crouching down
in front of him much more gently this time. Spike cringed back away
from her, covering his face with his arms, shaking his head in
disapproval of her nearness.
“Mustn’t touch,” he repeated in a broken whisper.
“Filthy…unclean…mustn’t come near…”
“Spike,” she murmured, reaching out a hesitant hand toward him.
“Spike…look at me.”
“No, no, too bright…too bright…belong in the dark, I do…not like
you…never like you, no matter how hard…no matter…” His voice trailed
off, and Buffy was suddenly aware of how very weary he sounded,
exhausted by the struggle taking place in his own mind.
“Spike,” she repeated simply, waiting.
After a moment, the vampire’s arms came down, and he glanced sideways
at her uncertainly, his arms still crossed and hovering about shoulder
level, as if ready at the first sign of danger to erect his protective
barrier again.
“What happened?” Buffy whispered, not quite sure she wanted to hear the
answer. “How did you get…what happened to you?”
“Got what I asked for, didn’t I?” was his reply, his voice tinged with
a hint of bitter anger. “Got what I had coming to me…what I
deserved…all sparks sold as is, no exchanges, no returns…even if the
one you get is damaged, can’t trade it in for another, no you can’t…”
Buffy let out a heavy sigh, as it became obvious that she not going to
get any logical answers from him at this point. She began to relax a
bit, despite the troubling situation, as it also became apparent that
she was in no danger whatsoever from the confused, disoriented vampire.
She looked him over a bit closer, frowning as she remembered the
strange marks she had seen on his chest that day.
She reached out without hesitation to pull the side of his tattered,
open shirt aside, jumping when he startled, jerking away from her and
pulling the shirt closed, shaking his head emphatically and whimpering.
“No…no…mustn’t touch…”
“Okay…okay, I’m not touching,” Buffy assured him, keeping her voice
gentle despite her irritation. “I’m not touching, Spike, okay? I just…I
just wanted to see…I mean…Spike, what did you do to yourself?”
Spike stared up at her for a long moment, before breaking into a fit of
manic giggles. “Done to myself…done to myself,” he echoed amidst his
insane laughter. “Didn’t do it to myself…had it done to me…asked for
it, all the same…”
“*Spike*,” she pressed, struggling not to display her impatience. When
he looked at her, soberly almost instantly, she clarified, “The
scratches. What happened? Why did you…? How did that happen?”
“Told you,” he replied immediately. “Tried to cut it out. Won’t bloody
well come out, though. No exchanges, no refunds…”
Buffy frowned in confusion. “What won’t come out?”
Spike stared at the ground, sniffling and suddenly swiping at tears
that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. “Bloody spark,” he
muttered, so softly that Buffy could barely make out the words. “Asked
for it…wanted to be good…asked for it…didn’t help, though…still
dirty…still bad…must be punished…sure to be caned…”
He was rocking again, as his words increased in speed and pitch, and
tears rolled down his face unchecked.
Buffy’s uneasiness intensified, as she tried to put together the pieces
of the strange puzzle, but it seemed that there was a single piece
missing, and that she already knew where and what it was, if only she
could remember. The answer was hovering just in front of her, just out
of sight, if only she could grasp onto it…
*Vampires don’t feel guilt…don’t know right and wrong…can’t feel guilt,
can’t feel anything, without a…*
The Council party rhetoric that had been echoing through her mind
ground to a sudden halt, as Buffy’s eyes went wide with sudden,
stricken understanding. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t
think; the entire world around her seemed to have frozen in time, as
her mind struggled to catch up, to process what seemed to be impossible.
“Your soul,” she whispered. “Spike…how…?”
“Had to, didn’t I?” he replied simply, staring up at her through
haunted eyes, his voice rising to an almost panicked tone as he gave
her his nearly incoherent explanation. “Only way to give you…what you
wanted…what you deserved. ‘Cept, that’s the rub, in’nit? *Can’t* be
that…can’t ever. Lot of bloody good the soddin’ spark does me if it’s
*broken*!”
The anguish, the betrayal in his voice shook Buffy to the core, and she
suddenly felt overwhelmed by all of it. It was too much to take in all
at once…maybe too much to take in at all.
Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted not to be there.
She rose to her feet, stumbling backward, shaking her head in disbelief.
Spike stared up at her bleakly, a sorrowful resignation in his
vulnerable blue eyes. Perhaps fully coherent for the first time that
night, he whispered pleadingly, his voice trembling with tears, “Don’t
go. Don’t leave me alone with him, Buffy…”
But the shaken Slayer just shook her head, unable to meet his request.
She had to make it all make sense to herself, before she could even
begin to deal with what had happened.
This was the sort of thing that could shake a person’s entire
foundation.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, swallowing back an involuntary sob as she
backed toward the door. “I…I have to…”
And without another word, before he could say anything else to stop
her, she turned and fled the basement, up the stairs and out the door
into the night.