by Sami

Spike was curled into a ball, rocking back and forth. They were almost always different voices; they hardly ever stayed the same. He looked up at Drusilla. She smiled.

"There's my sweet, wrapped up in a pearly white soul. I saw it on the stars years ago, they sang to me they did." He blinked and suddenly he was looking at Drusilla dressed in Victorian clothes, the very same ones he first saw her in. She was talking about victories and glory, when she just stopped.

Drusilla looked around, her ebony curls barely moving. "Whispered they did, telling me, showing me of your future love. All in a row, the slayers were, you always knocked them down. But then again, Daddy never got to the others first." Her face started to melt, the skin slipping off and landing on the front of her dress. Her hair started falling off when she said, "didn't you know, dear heart?"

Spike was now looking into the face of Angelus. The Irishman had a hold on his throat and a murderous twinkle in his eye. Angelus was in mid-lecture about mobs and slayers. He was in the past, he knew he had heard this lecture before. The dust and the dirt from the walls of the old mine shaft got in his eyes, distorting his vision. Smirking Angelus asked, "Do I have your attention, boy?" Spike nodded, confused. Angelus's smirk got bigger. "Did you really think you could take my place? It was always me, will always be me." And like Drusilla before him, Angelus's face, and the faces of Dru and Darla behind him, started to run, sliding in dollops off their heads.

He was in the factory with a younger Willow sitting beside him on the burned bed, wearing a fuzzy sweater and a scared expression. She turned her head to look at him, slowly an evil smile spread on her innocent face, then slowly, it melted too.

"You know you were only keeping her warm for him." She touched his face lightly with her fingertips. "They always seem to use you." He blinked and now Willow was panicking and off the bed, telling him there would be no having of any kind.

Wearing an old-fashioned brown suit, Spike looked around at the confused Scoobies, who were trying to figured out who they were. He blinked and they weren't confused any more, they were looking at him and grinning deviant smiles. "He was her first and as it were her only," Giles said with his face dripping off his head.

Dawn's eye was around her chin when she said, "It was poetic, not bloody awful." They got closer and closer, their faces falling off in liquid clumps. Anya reached out for him, the skin coming off her arm, feeling his face she asked, "were you ever there first?" A bit of her sun-kissed skin landed on his vest.

Spike, against the Magic Box, stared into the eyes of a very angry Xander. Xander suddenly went from homicidal to happy.

"Did you actually think that when she was with you she was actually with you? Both girls were thinking of him whenever you touched them. Every time."

Xander was grinning maniacally, when right on schedule, his skin started to melt off him. "Anya and Harmony were the only girls that you've ever had that weren't with him!"

Spike looked down, not able to take the amusement in Xander's eyes. He stared at the skin puddle that had formed at Xander's feet, then Xander's eyes fell into the puddle with a splash. The eyes still stared up practically glowing with amusement, like he and his life were a sitcom.

He was on top of a struggling Buffy. Spike leapt off her like she was covered with holy water. Her bathrobe was hanging of her shoulder, but she made no move to fix it.

"Spike, that wasn't in the script," Buffy said walking towards him, her skin already falling off. "What? Can't touch me? Do I repulse you now?" Her hair slid off her head on all sides; she was melting faster than the others. "I never loved you, you never loved me." She grabbed at his arms, pulling him to her. She brought a hand up to his cheek, her liquid tan skin running down his chin. "I could never love you. I already love someone. I'm just an obsession, like Drusilla."

Her hands went up in down his back more tenderly and lovingly than when they had their affair. Everything Buffy was saying hurt him more than anything that the others had said, because he now knew what they were talking about. What was left of her face twisted into something that could be loving.

"You want the girls that love him, that what you obsess about. You don't know love! No soul is going to change that." By that time Buffy's skin had already completely melted off, so a bathrobe-clad Spike faced him.

"But you bloody well knew that."


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