When she says "bloody" Spike can't help but look at his hands. They're practically unmarked, this time out. He never says, never even thinks, clean.
Now Spike takes the step back because he remembers a voice like hers, remembers nonsense words that speak straight to some part of the brain that's older than logic or language.
The shiver under Spike's skin is revulsion and pity and nostalgia and arousal and more than a hint of fear. Once before he'd ripped out his heart and thrown it over the windmill for a girl who saw the hidden truth and missed the bloody great taxicab right in front of her. He doesn't want to want to do it again.
Unconsciously Spike's hand goes to his face. He doesn't think of his human visage as a mask, more like... an expression, like a grin or a frown. Real enough as far as it goes. Just not everything. But if there's one thing he knows, it's not to argue with the crazy girl when she's having a vision. Automatically he drops into his Dru-coaxing voice, soothing yet solemn. "Yes, pet," he says. "Me too. Now what does this door look like?"
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Now Spike takes the step back because he remembers a voice like hers, remembers nonsense words that speak straight to some part of the brain that's older than logic or language.
The shiver under Spike's skin is revulsion and pity and nostalgia and arousal and more than a hint of fear. Once before he'd ripped out his heart and thrown it over the windmill for a girl who saw the hidden truth and missed the bloody great taxicab right in front of her. He doesn't want to want to do it again.
Unconsciously Spike's hand goes to his face. He doesn't think of his human visage as a mask, more like... an expression, like a grin or a frown. Real enough as far as it goes. Just not everything. But if there's one thing he knows, it's not to argue with the crazy girl when she's having a vision. Automatically he drops into his Dru-coaxing voice, soothing yet solemn. "Yes, pet," he says. "Me too. Now what does this door look like?"