Work Text:
Recondite
/ˈrekənˌdīt,rəˈkänˌdīt/
adjective
(of a subject or knowledge) little known; abstruse.
"the book is full of recondite information"
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Spike had never been good with feelings. More specifically, identifying the feelings of others. He was too susceptible to those horrid, rose tinted glasses, allowing his own wants to get in the way of the truth. It wasn’t anything new, no, and if he thought about it, this particular flaw was the reason for his downfall.
Not that being a vampire was that bad. Sure, people tried to kill you a lot, getting a tan was a no go, and he watched as the world passed by him… But there were good aspects as well.
Spike had never expected a slayer to be one of those “good things”. Not like Buffy at least. He enjoyed fighting slayers, the satisfaction of taking one down bringing him something he now hesitated to call joy.
So falling in love with Buffy had been quite a shock, to say the least.
It had left his mind in shambles, in a way. Not Buffy, never Buffy, but everything surrounding her. Everything about him he realized. Never before had he been so aware that something was clearly missing. For a moment he had awoken, dread and fear and disgust all rearing their ugly heads as he watched someone he so desperately wanted to love scramble away from him, the realization of what he had done making him sick.
Getting a soul was either the best or worst thing that had ever happened to him, and he would never truly decide which. He couldn’t say he regretted it though – not that he could say much at all after the whole ordeal. For the first time in centuries, he felt like that stupid, oblivious man he had once been – the one who felt love and fear and so much guilt.
Having a soul really forces someone to realize the weight of murder, huh?
But it was worth it, he thought. Things were getting better, and given the chance, he’d do it again and again. Over and over, just for one more chance to hold her, to touch her, to hear her voice. He was able to help her, to fight with her, and was all he had ever wanted.
Right?
To love and be loved was such a lovely thing. The feeling of bliss, knowing there was someone out there who accepted you for who you were, who held you in a part of their heart reserved for no one else.
Alas, that was not something meant for Spike. He had known it from the start, yet his heart still ached from the self-inflicted wound. Buffy couldn’t love him back, not now. Not like this. Not in the way he loved her.
Maybe in a different life. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him, didn’t respect him, didn’t value him. He remembered holding her, remembered how good pain could feel when it was with the right person. Walls had crashed down around him, but she hadn’t run. He remembered when she would stay afterwards, and he could see a peaceful look on her face for once. It wasn’t often, and he understood why. He remembered all of this as he cradled her in his arms, and realized why she could never love him.
She needed him, yes, and he needed her. But it was different. There was too much happening in their world, too many forces working against them. Buffy needed someone to rely on, someone to support her in any way. She didn’t have time to properly think about her feelings, and he supposed falling in love didn’t come so easily to some people.
He wished he was one of them.
The room was dark and unfamiliar, and as he held Buffy in his arms, gentle and without any other intention, he selfishly allowed himself to imagine a universe in which the world was kinder.
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It was about to be over. Everything they had worked towards, no matter which side they had once been on, was about to end. He thought about everyone that had been lost or killed, and felt a small pit of guilt when he realized he did not care about them.
Perhaps he had hoped that in his final moments, he would feel truly human once more. His death certainly wouldn’t provide him that – it was an undeniably supernatural end. He had failed to change, to return to what he once was, even if it was just for a moment. But he didn’t care. Not when Buffy was next to him, when he was finally sure she would be okay.
He hoped she would go on to live the quiet life he had imagined, without him.
Pain coursed through his veins, and he felt as though he was on fire. He was, Spike vaguely realized. But Buffy was beside him, and everything would soon be over, and he didn’t have a single regret.
“I love you.”
Oh, how he had longed to hear those words. It wasn’t until he heard them, though, that he realized he had never stopped wanting it. Even without a proper soul, hadn’t that always been his goal?
But a lie was no good.
Spike had never been good with feelings. It was something that separated him from the rest, his utter obliviousness to what people around him truly thought.
With Buffy, though, it was different. It was a fundamental understanding of one another, everything learned from experiences had with no others. Was this what it was to be human? To feel such joy and heartbreak all at once, knowing someone loves you enough that you can understand so much about them, even if it’s a truth that breaks your heart?
“No you don’t.” He said simply, because he would not die knowing Buffy believed such a lie. Spike knew her, knew that the thought would haunt her. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her suffering to be over, wanted to see it destroyed. It was all he wanted now.
“Now go!” He didn’t need her beside him. Wants and needs were two different things, and she needed to get away. “I wanna see how it ends.”
Flames and pain engulfed his body, and in his final moments, he saw that quiet life again. He looked around the underground, collapsing around him as the evil they had fought against was destroyed.
He would never get closure, would never get to bask in the joy of having ended it all. All he could think, though, was that he never imagined the end of the world would look so beautiful.