lateseasonlove | Fic Challenge #1: Bargaining, Part 1

cindergal.livejournal.com posting in

Author: Cindy
Title: She'll Never Be Exactly
Characters: Spike, Buffybot
Rating: PG13
Length: 954 words
Setting: Takes place just before Willow comes back to the house and finds Spike with the injured Buffybot
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them

The light from the television flickered and danced, making ghostly shadows on the wall that seemed to reach out for him, beckoning him; come join us. He wasn't sure how long he stared before dragging his eyes back to the screen.

Dawn would wander down for a glass of juice sometimes while he was sitting, and ask him why he sat alone in the dark. He made like it was a natural thing, him being a creature of the night and all. Truth was, without her to distract him, his eyes would inevitably be drawn to the pictures and mementos scattered about the room. To Buffy's smiling face, her arms draped around her sister and her mum. Just one Summers girl left, now, and that fact already haunted his dreams - he didn't need to wallow during his waking hours, too. He was no use to anyone all maudlin and weepy. Been there, done that, had the memories of many hangovers to prove it. He had a job to do. Promises to keep.

Not that the telly was much of a distraction tonight. Talk shows and infomercials were all he could find. Where was a good monster movie when you needed one? He glanced back at the stairs and saw that the hall light had been turned out. Dawn had gone to sleep, then. He got up to check the doors one more time. Front door locked, check. He headed toward the kitchen.

That's when he heard it, the repetitive banging noise that was coming from the back porch. What sort of nasty came a knockin'? Cautiously, he opened the door.

"Spike!"

Oh, bloody hell.

The bot turned her head to look at him, revealing a nasty cut on her forehead. She smiled brightly, but kept walking into the side of the house. Then she'd back up a step and do it again.

"Spike! I need to find Willow!"

He stepped out onto the porch and put his hands on her shoulders to still her. "Willow's not here."

"I have to find her. It's part of my programming." She began walking toward the porch railing, nearly tumbling over it.

"Whoa!" Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. "I think you'd better stay put."

"I have to find Willow!"

"She'll be back soon." He flipped the light on as he entered the living room, steered her toward the sofa and sat her down there. "Now, just sit here and be quiet."

"But, I'm confused. You didn't used to like me to be quiet. You used to like me to make lots of noise!" She beamed at him. "Oh, Spike! Harder, Spike! Spike, you're a..."

"Stop it!" The bot looked startled, not surprising as he'd practically roared at her. Walking over to the stairs, he listened carefully to make sure he hadn't woken Dawn. Then he sat down in the chair and put his head in his hands.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Sodding hell, would she just shut it? Willow had promised him that she'd fixed her. He glanced up to find the bot gazing at him with pre-programmed concern, a slight frown on her perfectly smooth features, marred only by the injury to her forehead. A spark arced across the wound, and he looked away.

"My fault," he said.

"What's your fault, Spike?"

Fucking everything.

"The way you are. I'm the one that had you programmed that way - I guess it's hard for Red...Willow, to get rid of it all now."

She smiled again. "I don't have to run a program. I can just be Buffy!"

Spike closed his eyes tight against the stinging tears. Disgusting. That's what Buffy - the real Buffy - had called the bot. Called him. And she'd been right. He was disgusting and pathetic and weak, and he couldn't even keep Dawn from being cut by that slimy old demon on the tower. The tears spilled over, and he wiped at them angrily with the back of his hand.

"You're not Buffy," he said quietly.

"Why not?" she pouted. “We look alike. We‘re very pretty.”

"Yes, you are,“ he said, reaching for every ounce of patience he could muster. “But you're just a machine. A copy. You can never be Buffy."

"You loved the other Buffy, but not me," she said sadly.

Spike nodded miserably.

"Did you do things with her naked, like we did?"

The bile rose in his throat. "NO! She would never..." He shook his head, forced himself to lower his voice. "She would never. Not with me."

She inclined her head, appearing almost thoughtful. "If I can't be Buffy, then who am I? Why am I here?"

Spike pushed himself out of the chair and began to pace the floor. Where the hell was Red? He glanced at the clock on the mantel, but instead his eyes landed on Buffy. A snapshot framed in wood and glass, but still Buffy. Her sunglasses were perched jauntily on her nose, and she smiled at him from a sunny beach somewhere. Happy.

"Spike? What am I here for?" the bot asked again.

If only he could make her understand, maybe she would leave him alone. "You're here to pretend to be Buffy. To slay vampires, and keep the bloody bureaucrats from taking Dawn away."

"Pretend? That sounds like fun! Do you like to pretend, Spike?"

He tore his eyes away from Buffy's photo and back to the bot, who looked up at him with her adoring, trusting eyes that were nearly the perfect shade of green. Looked at him in a way that Buffy never had. And never would. Quickly, he turned away.

"I used to," he said. "But I can't anymore."