Disclaimer: BTVS and its characters are the loving creations of Joss Whedon in association with Mutant Enemy and the WB. I only wish to play in Joss's universe and mean no infringement of copyrights.

These precious things, let them bleed

let them wash away.

These precious things, let them break

their hold on me.

Tori Amos, "Precious things."

A night had passed since Buffy had vanquished the Grimm's fairy tale monsters known as the Gentlemen. All was well with the town of Sunnydale. The innocents and heroes could go to sleep without fear of another evil till a new dawn had passed. Things were as they should be, God sat in his throne, and all was right in the world. *Bloody fucking wonderful* the vampire thought sardonically. The irony of the situation in terms of Spike's past few weeks back in Sunnydale had began to wear thin on his mind at the best of times, and led him down the path of silent depression at worst. For the last month he had for the most part passed his days sitting in a tub tied up for hours with no company or food. *Food* He couldn't even bloody hunt now. Totally dependant upon the help of the people he most despised in the world. Worst of all, the time he had to reflect on himself and the loneliness he felt was beginning to tear at his very 'soul.' *Like I bloody have one of those - oh yeah, that's right - there's a sale on souls at Target - variety of colors and sizes and they're even on discount - but the store closes at nine pm. Too sodden bad for the pathetic vampire who's allergic to sunlight and can't even fend for himbloody-fucking-self. Get staked ya fuckin bastard.*

Those nights alone on the streets after the military group had bagged and tagged him had taught him one humanistic thing since he had been embraced by Angelus. Humility. The last buggerin person on God's green earth he wanted to turn to for help was that bitch of a slayer. But, he knew she was the only one who could help. Even if it meant she would stake him, eventually. Misery does funny things to a person, and although he had taken his lumps of misery in his time, this took the fuckin' cake. And he was a miserable sodden bastard these days. Misery makes people reflect on the dark things they have done in their past with twenty-twenty hindsight and a vengeful conscience. Did this mean he was attaining a soul? Spike didn't like the prospects of that, afraid of where that might lead him. Its ramifications terrified him.

He could hear voices in the next room. The librarian and the young man, Xander, were arguing over who would be keeping him for the night. Apparently the tart from England was staying with the librarian another day since her flight was delayed and Xander got the short straw in the drawing. Spike winced at the harsh words thrown back and forth in debate of who was to keep him that night. It was like schoolkids in a gym trying to bargain away the fat kid who would unintentionally undermine the chances of winning the game of dodgeball. He felt like the bed ridden grandparent that no one wanted to lay claims to. An object to be handed back and forth without regard for feeling or need. This must be the forebearer of Hell. A harbinger of what was to come when he truly was staked and ceased to exist.

All these inner demons wracked him lately. Questions of self-examination with no answers to come. No sire to give comfort and guidance or loved one to ease the pain. *The epitome of immortality* he thought wryly. The door to the bathroom opened, Xander peering at him in a disgusted manner before hauling him to his feet.

"I get to play baby-sitter again tonight, so lets make this simple and you shut the hell up before you even start. Got it?"

Spike didn't even have the will to speak at this point. His normal banter had died away within the last day. Perturbing the Slayer and her entourage had been his only way of keeping sane over the last few weeks, and soon that too had become a lost cause. He trudged silently, the passing hallway, trek outside, and entrance into the back-seat of the car becoming some far away reality that he felt only vaguely aware of. He felt like he was dying inside, and strangely enough, it gave him small comfort to cling to.

The ride home was uneventful. Xander grumbled about not getting to screw Anya because of Spike. Spike sat silently, oblivious to the diatribe being spewed at him. Christmas lights flashed brightly on some of the passing houses, reminding him of when he was a boy with his family. Before, when he was human. Christmas with gifts and family. Being held and loved. Being innocent. Those memories seemed so very far gone but he didn't want them to fade away. These precious fleeting memories were the only legacy he had left that sparked some deeply buried shard of remaining humanity he could cling to. Not even Angelus knew this about him. No one did. And the memories were slipping away, burnt mist before the morning light like so many other parts of him. He reached out to touch the car window, trying to touch the past with the last breaths of hope in him. He could feel the wetness at the corners of his eyes. *Vampires don't cry* Angelus had told him that once when he had first been turned. Then he had tortured Spike for three days, making it clear what was to be expected. Complete loyalty and more. *Complete insanity,* he thought wistfully.

The car stopped. The passenger door opened up and Xander was hauling him out of the car, pushing him towards the stairwell leading to the basement of the house. Xander tied him to the couch and undressed, scowling at him once more before the lights were turned out. *Put out the light, and then put out the light.* The line from Othello turned around in Spike's head as he sat there listening to the mortal's breathing. Maybe he would be lucky enough to slip away before another day came.

* * * * *

Drusilla was standing before him, mocking him at being tied down to the recliner. She came close, jabbing a deadly talon into his side as she screamed at him. Blaming him. He wasn't there for her. He let her die. All these things that had echoed in his mind a thousand times were being thrown back at him now as she tortured him. She smiled darkly as she leaned in dangerously close. She was tittering in that maniacle drifting voice of hers, talking of hearts going pitter-pat and the death of tragic love.

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you, dearie. But, that's ok. Oh, and by the by, you wont be needing this, anymore," she finally said as she gouged out his heart with one of her barbed hands. He screamed in agony.

Spike awoke to the hard impact of something against his face, realizing the vision must have been another dream. *Do vampires really dream?* Xander must have thrown a pillow at him.

"Shut the hell up, leech." The words felt like turpentine against his emotional wounds, hurling him beyond the edge of depression into the chasm of self annihilation.

"Yeah, you're so bloody fucking right, mate." His voice was quiet but held a deadly tone to it. He yanked hard on the ropes that bound him, the sound of wrist bones shattering as he ripped free of them. A light glow suddenly filled the room as Xander scrambled out of bed and lunged for a nearby lamp to get enough light in the room to see what was happening. With numb fingers, Spike ripped the bonds from his feet and stood, staring hard at the human. Xander stood there, wide stanced with a baseball bat he had hastily grabbed, fear seeping from him. Spike laughed scornfully for a moment before speaking again.

"That's right, Harris. Go ahead and do it. Do the whole fucking universe a favor and put this miserable clod of a soulless bastard out of his undead misery. After all, what the bloody hell can he do to you now? Bite you?" He closed the space between them before Xander could even gasp, roughly taking the bat away from him and breaking it over his knee. He offered the smaller end back to the boy, the lacerated tip pointing towards him. Xander gave him a shocked look.

"That's how you play the game, right? Put the pointy end in the monster?" His voice was now barely above a whisper, racked by the tempo of emotions that stormed through him. The constructs of identity could no longer hold the pain and anguish that exploded from within. Tears of blood trailed down his cheeks as he slumped to the ground, covering his face with shaking hands.

"After all," he continued through ragged sobs, "vampires don't have souls. We don't feel pain and loss or grief. We're just the fucking rabid dog that needs to be laid down so that everyone can sleep safe again." His whole body shook as he tried to speak.

"None of you can stand me because I'm not the fucking goddamn tragic hero posterchild like Angelus." He was violently shaking now, rocking back and forth as he hugged himself tightly.

"You're nothing like Angel," Xander spat back.

The vampire's voice whipped out tightly as he glared at the teenager. "What's so hard to believe, Harris? Angelus got his soul back through magic. A 'curse' if you want to call it that. And even after being sent to Hell and returning, he is the valiant, wankering knight in shining armor. I lost everything I have ever loved that was from my mortal days. A wife and child. My whole bloody buggering family ravaged by this fucking beast within. And even after becoming this monster that killed thousands through the ages, I never once escaped the feeling of being eternally damned for what I had become."

"You're still a monster." Xander replied coldly.

Spike stood up suddenly and ripped his shirt asunder, baring his pale chest to Xander.

"Then do it!" he screamed through tears. "What are you waiting for?" Xander stared at him in mute awe. Seeing that this would not make for a quick end to him, Spike crumpled to the floor again, resigned to a fate of existence.

Silence filled the room for millennium before the clatter of wood against wood broke its deafening roar. The make shift stake rolled to Spike's feet.

"Why are you doing this?" Xander asked, confusion etched in his voice.

Spike gazed at the stake for a long time before speaking. Xander asked the question again, pushing insistently for an answer. Spike sighed deeply, the last facade of defiance slipping away from him as he looked at the ceiling.

"There were only two things I cared passionately about after I was turned. One was Drusilla. Even though she was insane, I loved her. I just wanted to hold her and make things right again. I wanted to protect her from the world and from herself but I couldn't," his voice faltered. "I didn't know how and so I failed. And now she's gone." He lapsed into silence again, the rivers of blood down his cheeks starting quietly afresh as the memories cut into him.

"Who was the other?" Xander asked softly. The vampire looked at him now, as if realizing for the first time that he was not alone in the room anymore. His voice was barely audible above a whisper, filled with the pain of loss and betrayal.

"Angelus."

Spike couldn't look at the stunned expression the boy gave him. These deepest secrets revealed things in himself that he couldn't even put words to, let alone accept the ravages of outside persecution.

A warm hand rested on his shoulder, startling him into anger. "Don't touch me! You don't even begin to understand what it has been like these last weeks. Before I was captured, at least I was a vampire. My existence was clear. I killed and moved on. I was at least something. Now...they have taken away everything I am and any hope of anything I wanted to ever regain. They destroyed things in me in twenty-four hours that had taken Angelus years to break. When they stole my will to kill, they also stole something else much more precious. My will to care again. The pain that stops me from harming another also stops me from every trying to reach out and touch another as well."

Xander shot him an incredulous look. "That's bullshit."

Spike shrugged slightly. "When I escaped, I went to find Harmony. She was the last soul in my life that I could trust. She was an obnoxiously infantile bitch, but I cared about her. Or at least had cared. When I saw her, I wanted to kiss her. To hold onto something familiar and real. But, I couldn't. The pain ate at me just like it did with feeding. No violence. No love. Nothing." He stared back at the floor as he spoke. "Meaningless," he trailed off, lost in thought for a moment.

"You remember when you punched me at the librarian's house? I envied you. I envied the love you felt for that girl. I envied the fact that my poof of a sire would come back to protect his slayer. All these emotions I will no longer ever be able to pursue by myself. Even when that street urchin of a witch friend of yours cast that spell to make me fall in love with Buffy...it wasn't me. It was merely a taste of something I will never be able to initiate again. Like everything else since I got bloody neutered, I am an emotional invalid. Spoon fed scraps of remorse or pity at best for the rest of my days."

He looked up at Xander finally, his face even more pallid than in the past. "Now, do you understand why?"

The teenager looked at him for a long moment, and then, without hesitating, hoisted him to his feet and kissed him deeply. Dazed, Spike, couldn't return the kiss, but was thankful for its brief warmth and intimacy. The boy held him gently and whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry."

Xander scooped his weak body up in strong arms and carried him to the bed. Carefully he laid the vampire out, covered him with blankets, and then to Spike's surprise, climbed in beside him. Warm arms embraced him from behind and held him close as he felt the wetness spill from his eyes again. Reaching over, Xander wiped away one of the tears.

"Maybe you didn't get a curse like Angel and find redemption. And maybe you are a four star bastard when it comes to the monster department. But, I don't doubt that everything has its reasons, Spike. Maybe, in your own right, you are finding your way back to that lost part of you."

The boy hugged Spike tightly, like a protective sibling, and that was enough for Spike for the moment. He slid back into the embrace and thankfully returned the hug, quickly falling into his first dreamless sleep in decades.

The end.

* * * * * * *