She holds the bottle towards him, a pleading look in her eyes. “Itâs
something Willow made. A very specific memory spell. Itâs not wrong if
you choose to drink it, is it? Not like what she did to Tara...”
His eyes are wary as he prepares to be hurt. “And just what memories
would those be, Slayer?”
Her eyes drop and she flushes. “The ones of us, you know, when we - the
things we did, the way I ...”
He nods. Itâs what he expected. “You going to take it too?”
Sheâs startled now. “No! I donât want to remember but I need to, to
stop me ever doing that again.”
He shrugs, hiding the pain thatâs making it hard to focus on her words.
“And you want me to forget so I donât have any memories of us together?
I can see how that must bother you but theyâre all I have left.”
She frowns, puzzled. This isnât the reaction she was expecting. “You
want those memories?” she asks, disbelieving, incredulous. “I
thought
youâd be glad to get rid of them.”
Itâs too much for him and the words pour out, unfiltered by the need to
seem distant, in control. “Glad? Slayer, those weeks we were lovers,
when you let me in, into your body, into your mind - I helped you, I
donât know how but I helped you, you needed me. When we made love, it
was as close to heaven as Iâll ever get, soul or no soul. If you wanted
to wipe out what happened at the end, Iâd understand but the rest of it
- was it really so bad? I tried to make you happy, I tried so hard -”
He can hear himself pleading and his voice turns bitter. “But I was and
am a vampire, right? A filthy thing. Canât have me walking around
knowing what you look like, what you taste of, the things you scream
when you come, the way youâd crawl all over me, kissing every
inch... suppose it makes you blush now youâve come to your senses. So,
right, you want to take it all away from me. Figures. Give me the
bloody bottle.”
Heâs shouting now and her eyes are wide, frantic. He finally quiets
enough to hear what sheâs saying as she takes his arms, shaking him to
make him listen.
“No! Spike, you donât understand... the memories are of me hitting you
in the alley, of all the hurtful things I ever said...I want us to
start again and I donât think we can when all you see when you look at
me is the one who hurt you.”
His eyes widen as her words reach him. Slowly he reaches out and takes
the bottle from her, raising it high and letting the liquid spill out,
sinking into the ground.
"That's not what I see."
Not now, he added
silently.
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