Fly Me To The Moon

Author: Megan/Peta

Rating: Strong R

Timeline: BtVS Season 5; AU after Crush

Summary: Set during Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 5. AU After Crush. Spike decides to return to LA with Drusilla after Buffy rejects him, leaving the Slayer bereft and sending Spike down a spiral of self-discovery that he's not the vampire he once was.


He was a stupid son of a bitch.

No two bloody ways about it. 'Just call me Mr. Obvious'. Now that the Bit knows, nothing will stay a secret. "What else does she say about me?" he mimicked in his earlier pathetically hopeful voice. Like it could possibly be anything good!

She hadn't even noticed. Stood right in front of her, showing off the new threads, and nothing. Not even a blink. No dimming of the disgust.

Bloody bint!

All this effort, and she still didn't have a clue. But it's coming, in the little package of the wonder Key. Littler Summers.

Bloody Hell!

Better that it had stayed a secret.

Spike paced, and paced, and paced. His legs stretched angrily with each step as he beat a frustrated path back and forth from his front door. On a whim he stopped, and pulled it open as quietly as his jangled, hyper nerves allowed.

Over the breeze he could hear Dawn's strident voice. "Oh, like you didn't notice."

He groaned and held on to the door, slumping against it in a sudden clarity of disaster.

"He's so in to you."

He slid to the floor, silently shouting for Dawn to shut her gob before she spoiled everything. How could the bint shoot him down like that when she had just told him that she appreciated him for talking to her like an adult, instead of the alien that all the Scoobies were? Did she hate him that much that she would set him up against her sister?

Afraid to hear Buffy's tirade of good versus evil- and he was nothing better than the spawn of Satan himself- he backed away from the door and sunk against the opposite wall, elbows on knees and head miserably on hands.

"Well, now we're buggered. Slayer will off you for sure now, you great git."

Shaking his head, he fumbled over the memories locked forever in his skull. The dream that had brought it all out of hiding, the feelings inappropriate and wrong but still knocking him over the head with their obviousness. He just wanted to crawl back into a tiny hole and cover himself up with earth for another fifty years and save himself for when she was dead and gone and his hope became hopeless.

He could just kick himself for feeling like a little fluffy-haired poofter from 1880, eager to impress a girl with sonnets and hearts, when all he was known for now was fangs and ridges and fists. And trails- no rivers- of gushing blood. 'Not anymore', he valiantly protested. He wasn't like that anymore. He tried. He did all he could to help her, to keep the bloodlust down, to protect her and her ridiculous friends. To be different. To be someone she could trust. As long as he could fight the monsters by her side, he could do it.

His crush hadn't yet been explored, but he was eager. He was motivated; struggling, but motivated. He knew he could change. For her. He could do anything, if it meant she would let him just look at her. Not even touch her. Just look without turning her sparky hate-filled greens on him. If she would just let him through her barrier, allow him to be something for her. Allow him to help. Even if she could never love him back, and really he didn't ever expect her to. But if she could have some faith in him, help him a little. Like him a little. He could do it. For someone he loved. He could change. For her.