Kat Lee (katleept) wrote,
Kat Lee
katleept

Coming For Her

Title: Coming For Her
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike, Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: nekid_spike: Spike... the Punk Rocker!
Warning(s): AU
Word Count: 1,943
Date Written: 9 October 2018
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.






He stared out at the sea of faces before him. Not a single one was familiar. Sometimes he’d see one that looked vaguely familiar, as though they’d come to his concerts before, but every one of these humans looked new and different. Yet every one also looked the same. No matter the color of their dyed hair, the shade of black they wore, or their various piercings, they were all the same, basic cattle, and he, although sometimes he really, truly did not wish to be or to have anything at all to do with them, was their herder.

He sneered, and the crowd went wild. Forbidden cameras flashed. Phones waved in the air. Cigarette lighters flared to life. Girls, and a couple of the guys too, shrieked his name. It was a look of disgust, almost of hatred; yet, they loved it. He could have cussed any one of them out or even taken a knife to them, and the bleeding idiots probably would have loved that too. They wanted him, or so they thought.

They just wanted him to acknowledge them, to know they were alive, to know they existed and loved him. How many letters had he gotten to that point? How many keys, pairs of underwear, and roses had he had to step across on the stage, sometimes purposefully stomping them underneath his black boots? How many times had he had to call the coppers just to come scrape some poor sap off of his door when they’d actually managed to find where he was staying for the time being? He never stayed in one place for long, never had, and he was beginning to think he’d been in this career for far too long.

It wasn’t like he’d ever asked for the thing. He should’ve said no in the beginning, Spike thought. He’d just been playing in a little dive bar, a hideout for freaks like him, when an agent had spotted him and filled his head with things that could never be. He’d been promised the impossible: that he could have anything he wanted, but they didn’t know what he wanted. And they certainly wouldn’t understand it if they did.

He didn’t want these crowds. He didn’t want millions of adoring fans. It didn’t matter to him what the women and men alike looked like as they threw themselves down before him, stripping out of their clothes for all to see and sometimes managing to sneak into his trailer and lay waiting, naked, in his bed. He didn’t want the actresses and models who could sometimes be as bad, throwing themselves at him after his videos were made. He only wanted one person in that way, and he was beginning to think she didn’t exist.

Yet every time he closed his eyes, as he did now while the lights were still dimming, he saw her beautiful face again. She radiated with beauty, seemed practically to glow in the darkness of his life that even permeated his dream world, but it wasn’t just physical beauty with which that bird glowed. There was something more about her, something that no one else on the planet possessed. There was a strength and an . . . unearthly quality to her. She was beyond anything these blokes could offer her, beyond anything he was going to find in any of these concert halls or studios.

He’d never find her while he was playing his music. She might have happened into one of the bars he used to frequent, but he’d never find her here. She didn’t go where the crowds went. She was one of a kind. She marched to her own drummer, as his dear mother used to say he did. He’d never find her here; she’d never be caught in such a mass of screaming, sweating, disgusting bodies.

Could he even still find her, he wondered, if he did try the places she might go? And where would she go? In his dreams, they always met in the strangest of places. They were often fighting too -- not the flirtatious banter of couples but actual, physical blows. In one dream, their lovemaking had been so ferocious that they had literally torn down the house in which they had been, a big, deserted thing unlike any building in which he’d walked previously. That had inspired the song, “I’ll Tear Down The World (For You)”. Every bloody one of his fans wanted to believe he’d written it for them, but he’d written it for her -- the girl he’d loved for as long as he could remember although he’d never once met her in person.

But that didn’t keep the dreams from coming. It didn’t keep her from inspiring his every ballad, his every move, and it was time he listened to her again, Spike knew. It was time he let these screaming, writhing people find someone else to follow. It was time he let go of a dream he’d never had but which he’d had thrust upon him. It was time to move on and resume his search.

Still, his fans had paid good money for this performance, and he was under contract with his recording company for one more month. He could keep going for four more weeks, he told himself, and then he could direct the funds he’d built up and all his time that would suddenly be free and open to finding her. HIs long, pale fingers had already started strumming the chords he knew by heart. He always played the same song in every concert and in every city across the world. They wanted to keep the new material he’d been coming up with recently for the next tour, but there wasn’t going to be a next tour. He was done with stupid gig.

They just didn’t know it yet, but they would, and no amount of talking or money would change his mind. He had to get back to the hunt. He had to get back to finding her before it was too late and they were both dead, having never met the other half of their soul. She was the girl he sang about in “My Other Half”. She was the girl about and for whom he always sang. He would find her, but only if he got back to doing what he was supposed to do -- and this bloody concert, appeasing these screaming dolts, was not what he was meant for. He was meant for bigger things, for better things. He was meant for her, and he’d only find her if he got away from this life which had never been meant to be his.

And what a life it was! He snarled as his blue eyes popped open. Jostling from city to city, barely avoiding throngs of people who all wanted to throw themselves at him, was never the kind of life he’d wanted! If he’d known this was what he was signing up for when that agent had come after him, he would have probably beaten the whelp to a bloody pulp. It was too late for that now, but it wasn’t too late to get out. It wasn’t too late to get back to finding her. That was exactly what he was going to do when this last month was up.

And he would find her! He would! Spike froze suddenly as a blonde head caught his attention in the crowd. His fingers and lips kept moving, kept playing his song without his even having to give actual thought to it. He never missed a beat or a syllable even as he stared at the blonde girl in the front row. She turned suddenly, laughing with her friends, and his face dropped. It wasn’t her.

Of course it wasn’t her, he told himself angrily as he continued to play. She’d never lower herself to being involved in a circus act like this! There was something that placed the girl in his dreams above all others, and it wasn’t just the fact that he loved her. She had a strength -- an uncanny strength that was unlike anything he’d ever encountered in the real world. That girl who’d caught his attention with her shimmering hair that was styled in the same way as his dream girl would probably freak out if she got so much as a paper cut, but his girl -- his Buffy fought for everything, fell for nothing, and was stronger than all the rest of the women in the world put together.

She was one of a kind, the only one he could possibly be his soul mate, and he would find her. He just had to get out of here first. Snarling his lyrics, listening to his crowd go wild, Spike put himself into his music. He’d first started writing this songs for her. He still wrote every ballad for her, sang every note, when he was alone, thinking of her. Some day he’d sing them to her. He would. He would find her. He just had to get out of this Hell first.

One month, he thought, and then I’m finding you, lover. I’m finding you, and we’ll never be apart again. The thought made his handsome, pale face fill with a smile. He howled his lyrics, pouring more powerful emotion into them as he thought of her. He would find her; he would be one with her! His dream wasn’t over. It was just delayed because of his own foolish choices, choices that he’d soon make right and free himself of. He was going to find her! He would, and then, once he was whole with her, he’d never let her go again!

He smiled and continued to play as the world went wild around him. None of them mattered, though. Only she mattered, and he would find her, he promised himself. He would find her, and life, and music, would mean something again. He’d play his songs for her. He’d write new material for her. Best of all, he would love her physically, as he already did in his heart and soul, for the rest of his days on this Earth.

Flashes struck him as the strobe lights began, seemingly adding punctuation to his angry notes. There he was again, dressed in the same black leather he wore every night on stage, but snarling with actual fangs protruding from his mouth. There he was, making love to her and fighting undead things by her side. It was strange. It was what inspired many of his horror videos. It was almost like he’d lived another life in another world with the woman he loved.

He wondered if he’d have to fight undead monsters to reach her, but if he did, it would be worth it. Any price would be worth it to be together with his Buffy in life instead of just in his dreams. He’d find her, and no amount of monsters, Vampires, or Zombies would keep him away from her when he did. It was just a matter of time. Spike’s heart thumped along with the wild beat of his music. He screamed the words of his song, barely able to be heard above the screams of his fans.

He would find her, and everything would be worth the suffering once he did. I’m coming, Buffy! he thought. I’m coming! New words started building into a new song in his head as he played the same, old, tired tune. He’d find her, and everything would be made right in his world as long as he held to her and their love.


The End
Tags: btvs: spike, btvs: spike/buffy
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