Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge/Prompt: nekid_spike: Spike the Bloody...Awful Poet!
Word Count: 646
Date Written: 31 May, 2016
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
There is so much he could tell her. There are so many thoughts jumbling around in his mind that at one time he would have been searching desperately for quill and parchment, but writing doesn't come as easily any more, not that he was ever good at it. He could tell her she shines like a silver beacon of hope in the moonlight, but it wouldn't make her shine any more. It would just sound lame.
He could tell her he'll love her forever, but he's still not at all certain how she feels. That shouldn't matter on rather or not he speaks his love for her, but it does. He doesn't want to be left hanging again. He doesn't want to throw his heart at her feet just to have her stomp all over it.
But she does shine, and he does love her so much that sometimes it's a physical ache in the place in his chest where his heart used to beat. He could try to find a way to tell her how much she means to him. He could tell her again that she's the only one, but his actions have made that clear.
He could tell her there's no one else like her, but everybody in Sunnydale and in the Slayer's circle already knows that. She may no longer be the only Slayer, but she's still the only one of her kind. No one else can come as close to being the ultimate good. No one else can do the things she's done, beat death as many times as she has, or save the world as much. She may not be the only Slayer, but she'll always be the best.
And she'll always be the best to him. Yet he still doesn't know how to tell her. He doesn't know how to tell her what he feels. He doesn't have the courage to do so even if he possessed the words, but it doesn't keep him from going to her night after night. It never keeps him from her side, where he's stepping to now out of the shadows, and it never keeps him from loving her.
Her eyes are like two large jewels glistening in the moonlight as she looks up at him, but that, too, has been done to death. He couldn't possibly come up with a new poem about eyes being like jewels, but her eyes shine like emeralds in the night -- and happy ones, too -- as she looks at him. He's surprised when her hand reaches out for his, but he takes it eagerly as he steps into place beside her.
He no longer has the soul of a poet. He no longer has the words to describe his feelings, but he never did a good job of that even before he was turned. Buffy's not exactly the poetry type, any way, but she is The One. She's the only one, the best Slayer ever, the one who's changing it all, the one to whom the world owes a debt of gratitude for saving their lousy lives, but most of all, she's the one for whom he's been quietly searching all this time.
She is his better half. The missing part of him wasn't just his soul; it was her and the love he feels for her but didn't dare acknowledge for so long. He still won't say it aloud, and neither will she, but when she looks at him as she's doing now, he knows. Even without saying or writing a single word, he knows. Her fingers curl around his, and he hears her heartbeat quicken with joy that he's come again to her tonight. They may never speak of it again, but he knows she loves him just as he loves her. And that's the most beautiful poetry ever, still without a word.