3rd in the Virtue Series

Pairing: S/X
Rating: PG
Summary:Xan POV
Disclaimer: I do not own, I merely torture for my own pleasure



Virtue Series


by
Trixx



Charity

I can hear him, crying, alone, rocking back and forth, sometimes banging his head against the wall as he mumbles to himself.  Heís in the dark, more so than anyone else Iíve ever met.  The darkness seems to well up around him, holding him, I can feel it, and thatís saying a lot for the Xand Man, Iím the normal one, the one without any super powers.  Sometimes Iíve cursed that particular oversight, but at times like this, I have to say itís a blessing.  I donít want to be the one causing fear, the one saving the world, although I have done that a time or two, I donít want to be the last step before the end of the world, well not again anyway, Iíve done that shtick before, and Iíll leave it to the professionals.  When it comes down to it, all I want to do is help the people closest to me, and I guess heís part of us now.  No matter what heís done, heís a part of us, a part of me.

I didnít want to help him.  Heís a murderer.  The thing Iíve fought to destroy these last six years, I should hate him, for all heís done to us, tried to do to us, for what heís done to Buffy.  But I donít.  I donít think I can.  He needs me.  Iíve always been the one to help those in need.  Angel called me the Slayerís White Knight once, he didnít know how wrong and right he was all at once.  I do what I have to do, no matter how wrong I believe it is, I do what I feel is right.  Helping Spike?  It feels right.

Every night, I go to the place where heís hiding away, the place heís dragged to, the place his voices lead him.  I have to, I canít just leave him there, he needs me, when everyone else has abandoned him, he needs me.  I donít speak, it would be wrong to speak to him, to whisper comforts like everything is gonna be okay, everythingís alright, its not.  I donít think anything is gonna be alright ever again.  Nothing's right, not sinceÖ not since he came back.

I didnít want to help him, I wanted to turn my back and leave him there in the dirt, rocking and crying, it's what I thought he deserved, but when I picked him upÖ he curled so trustingly in my arms, like a small child, soft, cuddly, sobbing his heart out, sobbing for the ache in his soul.  His soul, wonders never cease, first dead boy, now Spike.  When did the lines between right and wrong become so damn blurred?

I have to shake my head at my internal babble, Iím standing here listening to him cry banging his head against the wall, his incoherent mumbles filling up the silence that seems so thick down here, mumbling about right and wrong, and how he never meant to hurt her, I donít think I believe that yet, but I know he needs me, needs me to take him home.  I donít want to be his last chance at forgiveness, but sometimes something has to give, and right now it's me, Iíve got to give something to him, that no one else seems to want to do.  

Iím gonna take him in my arms, and carry him home, holding him against my heart, cause Iíve found the steady thumping soothes him, put him to bed, and hope that tomorrow we wake up to see a new day, that he wakes to see a new night, and that someday, with a little bit of understanding, with that extra gentle push, with someone to lean on, that someday heís gonna be able to stand on his own two feet.




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