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[Spike sits perched on the edge of the couch, misery clearly etched into his every feature. No matter what he does, nothing will change; he's still just a muck-up. Not only was Buffy not supposed to find out this way, she was never supposed to hear it from him. He's wrecked the timeline along with everything else and he finds himself wishing for the millionth time the community had never found him in Hell.
Not least of all is this place, still reeking of death no matter how much Sylar and he cleaned. Mostly him since Sylar was busy eating cheese doodles, but still. The smell lingered, and it disturbs his hyper senses. Spike stares into the depths of the blank television screen, as if it'll give him some further answer, or maybe erase his misstep.]
Not least of all is this place, still reeking of death no matter how much Sylar and he cleaned. Mostly him since Sylar was busy eating cheese doodles, but still. The smell lingered, and it disturbs his hyper senses. Spike stares into the depths of the blank television screen, as if it'll give him some further answer, or maybe erase his misstep.]
