Depression


by Saber ShadowKitten
Nightdreams Alternative 27





Depressed. Helpless. Weak. Useless. These four feelings surrounded him, weighed down heavily upon him, made him unable to do anything but lay there.

"Spike?"

"What?" Spike grumbled, staring across the room at the wall. He'd been awake for a few hours, the doctor and Meg having woken him up to speak to him about therapy. He hated that word already.

"Dr. Walters said you can go home tonight," Buffy told him.

"Swell."

Buffy walked into his line of sight and crouched down so they were face-to-face. "What's wrong?" she asked softly. "I thought you'd be jumping for joy."

Spike snorted derisively. "Yeah. Jumping for joy. I'd like to see that happen."

"Spike, if you don't tell me what's wrong, I won't know how to help you."

"You want to know what's bloody wrong?!" Spike yelled suddenly, the helplessness he felt exploding into anger. "I CAN'T WALK!"

Buffy stared at him a moment. "What do you mean, you can't walk?"

"What do you thought I mean?" he asked sarcastically.

"But...but you could walk before the operation," Buffy said. "Well, you fell down a lot near the end, but you could still walk."

"Well, I can't now," he growled. "All I can do is stand there like a ninny."

"I don't understand," she said.

"Talk to Meg," Spike said. "She will talk you all about brain parts and telephones to my soddy legs."

Buffy stood and headed for the door. "I'll be back."

Spike went back to staring at the wall and the depression settled over him again. He didn't want to not walk for the second time in his unlife. The first time had been horrible enough. However, back then, he knew it was only a matter of waiting for his legs to heal.

He didn't know what he was suppose to be waiting for now. His brain to wake up? Maybe someone would be nice enough to shove whatever that pointy wooden thing was called into his heart. He could ask Dad to do it. Or maybe Dru.

"Spike, are you sleeping?"

Speak of the Princess.

"No, Dru. I'm up," Spike answered, turning his head to watch her as she glided into the room.

"I came to say goodbye, my sweet," Drusilla said. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Goodbye?" he asked.

"You're all better now," she said. "And the moon is whispering to me, telling me it's time to go home." She lowered her chin and looked at him through her lashes. "Unless you want to come with me, luv. I can take care of you again..."

The offer sounded tempting. He could get away from what he knew was going to be horrificable therapy and probably could convince her to push him into the sun. He doubted he'd have the same luck with Little Buffy. But, if he left, he'd never get to see Little Buffy smile or hear her bitch at him again. He wouldn't get a chance to have snugglies with her under his favorite, yellow blanket.

"Your thoughts are filled with her," Drusilla said unhappily, touching her fingers to her temples. "You love the nasty Slayer. More than your Princess."

"I don't," Spike responded automatically. "I'll always love my Princess best."

Drusilla smiled at him as she dropped her hands. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, then whispered to him, her face still an inch from his. "Miss Edith says you're lying, my pet. But she also says you're not the same Spike that I loved and that you should stay with your Little Buffy."

She stood and reached out to pat him on top of his bald head. "Goodbye, my Spike," she said. And with that, Drusilla walked back out of Spike's unlife and he felt as though his heart was broking in two.

"Goodbye, my Dru," he whispered, then returned to staring at the wall across the room, the cloud of depression settling on him once more.



End 1