SquidgeWorld Archive

Title: Chatting Dead
Author: Mera
Feedback: C'mon, tell me what you think and let me know your requests. lusciousspike@yahoo.com
Characters: Spike, Tara/The First etc.
Rating: 15+ due to some strong language and references
Summary/TimeLine: Season 7, Pre- Same Time, Same Place . "You did it once, I heard about it," Spike said declaring his knowledge about Willow skinning someone. Um. How did nutty!Spike know about that?
Note: 1. Part of the Missing Scene Series MiSS but is in fact a stand-alone like all of them are.
2. My darling Carla requested a MiSS on how Spike found out about what Willow did to Warren. Here's looking at you rua1412!

Thanks to Farah for the quick beta!

"Everything is... I had a speech. I learned it all." He shook his head as if refusing something adamantly. "Oh, God, she won't understand, she won't understand."

A boy Laughed. "Of course, she won't understand, Sparky. I'm beyond her understanding. She's a girl. Sugar and spice and everything useless unless you're baking."

Gasp of breath.

"I'm more than that. More than flesh..."

"... More than blood," Glory said with a smile. "I'm... you know, I honestly don't think there's a human word fabulous enough for me." She turned to look at the cowering figure. "Oh, my name would be on everyone's lips. Assuming their lips hadn't been torn off," it was said in a somewhat anticipating fashion. "But not just yet. That's all right though..."

"... I can be patient," Adam finished in his robotic tones. "Everything is well within parameters. She's exactly where I want her to be. And so are you number seventeen."

The addressee raised his head just high enough to acknowledge being at least conscious of his surroundings.

"You're right where you belong."

"So, what'd you think, you'd get your soul back and everything would be jim-dandy?" Mayor Wilkins placated as if he were speaking to a child. "A soul's slipperier than a greased weasel. Why do you think I sold mine?" He chuckled with warm insanity.

Insane. The lot of them. He was truly right where he belonged. Spike's blue eyes lighted in color.

"Well, you probably thought that you'd be your own man. And I respect that." Spike felt his skin crawl as the man continued speaking, "But you..."

"... never will," the sentence was finished by softer voice.

Sneakily, Spike glanced to the right. It was her hand; he knew it more than he did his.

"You'll always be mine." Drusilla's phantom hand looked as if it were touching him. But he knew better by now. He closed his eyes for a second, creating their feel in his mind. It wasn't comforting. Was it ever? "You'll always be in the dark with me. Singing our little songs." He could taste her fingers. If he pretended hard enough. He didn't. "You like our little songs, don't you?"

He couldn't answer, even if he wanted to, he didn't think he ever would again.

"You've always liked them--- "

Liked who? The songs? Or...

"---right from the beginning." She leaned closer to whisper in her enchanting voice, "And that's where we're going."

He could hear her change...

"Right back to the beginning."

Spike's gut clenched at that long forgotten baritone.

"Not the bang. Not the word." The Master made it seem as if everything disgusted him... was below his status. "The true beginning," he spoke as if the listener was supposed to innately know the fact without him bothering to inform them of it.

"The next few months are going to be quite a ride." The Master had a causal tone on him while he surveyed the room. "And I think we're all going to learn something about ourselves in the process," hiss of words against fangs punctuated what was being spoken.

Spike tilted his head, only to be smacked down into place.

"You'll learn that you're a pathetic schmuck, if it hasn't sunk in already."

Spike never did miss the old days. Not those.

"Look at you. Tried to do what's right. Just like her. You still don't get it."

The Master moved behind him and Spike barely refrained from turning around, his neck itching as if it were waiting for the remembered slick blow.

"It's not about right. It's not about wrong..."

"... it's about power."

Spike had to focus on the floor so not to look at her. He couldn't breathe. It wasn't right, he shouldn't, it shouldn't bother him.

Not again. It was an unfinished cycle. Bent on repeating itself over and over...

"Buffy makes it all about her, center of the universe. I'm glad Willow tossed her around like a raggedy doll."

Spike's eyes widened and he snapped his head. This was... It was...

"Tara?" Spike whispered in shock, his voice lost behind the murmur of bewilderment and the rasp of dryness. Of everyone he thought would haunt him, he never imagined this sweet girl. This madness was becoming more and more confusing. He thought it was bad watching over someone who lost their mind, it was worse on the other side of the track.

She seemed to ignore him, like he wasn't there. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe this was Hell and it decided to freshen up... but no. SHE had been here. She was real. But...

"I was insane once," Tara said in remembrance and frowned. "I felt free. You should enjoy it. Go with the flow. Let someone else hold your hand for a change."

Spike dug his nails into his fingers, snapping his eyes shut. It would stop here. All he needed now was for purest Dawn to torment him, to treat him like he deserved to be treated. He could not let that happen.

"I take the credit for that." The voice now sounded more like the impure Goddess than his Niblet. Spike ventured to look at the red clad woman. "I made a whole bunch of crazies, but never vampires. You know why?"

Spike didn't have a chance to ponder an answer as Glory shifted. Another form took her place. The blond head was titled down looking at her bloodied white shirt with interest.

"'Cause, they're nothing, dead shells clinging to potent life force. But I was never nothing... I had friends... Willow... I did good. I never hurt anybody--- not intentionally." She pouted. "I was happy. I was even nice to you, and now? I'm dead. Doesn't seem right." Tara picked at the red blotches with a sigh.

"I killed her. Bam!" Spike's head snapped to the left where Warren stood grinning. "It was quick, I think," the dead boy didn't seem to care.

Spike looked back where Tara had been, but she was not there anymore.

"Sure, I didn't mean to kill her. I was after your slayer whore, but she jumps right back up." Warren clicked his fingers loudly in angry hand movements. "Bitch." Both his hands stuck into his hair in a desperate crazy action. "You know, like one of those cockroaches that just won't to die, you hit them again, and again, and they keep on moving!" His hands stilled. "Or like Xena..." he trailed off in an awe tone.

Spike titled his head when he thought the young man was looking at him, but realized soon enough that he was looking though him, dreamily.

"You know, Billy. I keep thinking that if I killed the slayer that loony redhead wouldn't have went Darth Glenda on my skin, but not her honey, oh, no." His chuckles turned to feminine ones as Tara ran her fingers through her long hair, marring it with redness. "Will avenged me, she made him feel the pain I did, she drove a bullet right though his chest, really, really, slow." She moved her finger in screwing gesture over her chest. "You know what I mean, don't you?"

The finger gradually changed until Warren stood moving his finger around over the bullet hole in his chest. "It hurt like hell! But I was man enough to take it."

Spike gently let his eyes close. He couldn't keep swinging his gaze; it felt like the chip was firing up in his head. Tara giggled shyly. He could hear how her hand muffled her voice.

"He cried like the girl he was, it makes sense seeing as he's a fem-phobe. He was a girl in a sad little boy's clothing."

"Yeah. That must've been what Miss Dark Dye thought, 'cause next thing I know, she pealed me off in one strip to see what's under." Warren gestured at his body as he slowly came in front of Spike.

Spike didn't realize that he had his eyes opened again. His motor functions were apparently in sync with his mental ones.

Meat on bone was what he saw.

Spike imagined he could smell the freshly skinned human flesh as the blood glowed in the dim light. He should know. He titled his gaze down to his feet.

"And guess what she found?"

Tara crouched down. Spike could see her shoes but didn't raise his head. "Vengeance didn't fulfill Willow's mad rage. She knew it would never satisfy her. You know what she did?"

Nothing this time. No more words.

It expected him to speak now.

Spike finally looked up into the once pure blue eyes, now reflecting what could only be described as death. "Tried to take it out on everyone else," he said in soft conviction.

Tara nodded a small smile on her face, as if he answered the mystery of life itself. For a second there, he thought he saw what kindness had once lied in the living soul.

"You always saw it... what Willow could turn into with magic, and did nothing. You should've been there to stop the abomination from rising once again from the soil. You didn't. And, hey, now we're here!" Her voice lightened as if she remembered something important. "Did I mention thanks?" She must have noticed his confusion for she continued, however more deviously, "--- for clearing me of that so-called demon family secret. The punch made me tear up though." She rubbed her nose timidly.

"You're dead?" Spike asked, like it had just occurred to him.

Tara sighed like every woman did when a man didn't listen to her. "Yes, it was fast, I think it hurt, 'cause death is all about hurting, right?"

She jumped up and twirled, suddenly donning a long skirt and a green corset. "Willow and I danced and sang, around and around we danced in the sun that day, sang and made love. I thought I was happy." Tara pulled to a stop, staring straight at Spike, into him, accusing him. "You hurt when you died but then all the hurt went away when you came back, did that make you happy?"

Spike stared forward and didn't speak. What would he say if he did?

Tara sighed, disappointed like a mother would when her child failed to understand. "Me?" She held a hand on her chest. "The kind person I was is now dead because some trigger-happy kid wanted to take down the girl you were failed to save from taking the ultimate dive --- and someone like you gets to live on, after what you did you Buffy, the girl you claimed to love?"

"N-No, no, I didn't--- the girl..." Spike stuttered. His voice had returned, but his conviction had once again deserted him. He didn't even believe his own words.

"Stopped you," Tara finished. "It wouldn't have matter either way, the damage was done. She got hurt, you hurt her. Like you hurt them all. Everyone you touch, you come near. It's what you're designed to do. That's why you're alone. Why they leave you. No one ever loved you. The reason IS you. It had always been you," she finished compassionately with a sad smile on her face.

Amazing how the words stung more from someone he had not much attachment to. A brief flutter of contemplation of a kind face and warm cuppa if it would further the pain, before he quickly wiped it away, fearing the reality of his mind's manifestation speaking in that form.

"Always someone better than you out there," pity words spoken as Tara pointed behind Spike.

He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. He already knew. A full circle, always.

"The old bat was right, you are a pathetic schmuck. But, I always knew that. Taught you your place well, Willy. Got yourself a name back then thanks to me. But now? A waste of space, you've always been- a pitiful human, a pitiful vampire, and now you're going be a pitiful vampire with a soul. Better off dusting yourself. " Amused laughed filled the dreary room bouncing against the walls in an ominous way. "Came back for her after what you've done, and for what? Who do you think you are? You think you can be me?" Angelus - Angel - tisked as he walked around the crouching figure. "You think you can have what I have? Who I have? Ever? You're you, Spike," he said in a mocking brogue. "A weak shadow of me, soul or no soul. You will always be beneath it all, everything. A sad momma's boy poet weeping at inferiority on every turn. Doesn't matter if you keep reinventing yourself, boy, you'll always be by yourself in the end."

The dark voice whispered with a hush in his ear, Spike's jaw cracked from the pressure of sitting still. He had feebly wasted enough energy contesting all that oh-so-many times by now. He felt his muscles unwind. He was tired. Just...

"I almost fell under it, except see, I had her then---"

"--- But, I don't. And my time is here, now."

Spike's head lifted up little by little and watched with detachment as the leather figure leered down at him.

"Built up an army. They'll see real power then." Spike smirked down at his soul-ed counterpart. "We'll make mum proud, we will. Won't we, William?"

The End...