Man Enough to Admit It: Prologue
by Chaucer
I know I love her more than bloody anything as I watch her sleep. Her request had been so simple, so beautiful, to me. After all these months of using me, she wanted me to be with her. Just guard her while she slept. Keep her safe. Soothe her in a way I never thought I could.

What’s wrong with me? It isn’t the goddamn soul (bullocks, isn't that interesting, a damned soul)- she affected me long before that. I hated her long before I loved her. Maybe some part of me still does, but I guess the love’s burning it out, like I burned out the lives of so many back in my day. It’s funny that she trusts me enough to let me hold her now. She knows what I’m capable of. But when I think about it, I know I’m not capable of anything. I couldn’t lift a finger to hurt her now. I can and I will kill to defend her. I won’t exactly do it because I believe in the cause. But what she believes in, I believe in.

She glows. I’m not going into the poet mode ever again; I won’t let myself. But she’s an angel, and that’s the truth. A sodding earthly one, not one of those sugary Heaven types. Even in all her strength, she’s still the most fragile thing I know- too noble to know when her chivalry’s hurting her. More than anything I want to protect her, and I do. Not that she knows it. Not that she would allow it.

Angel. Angelus. Such a nancy boy. When she says that she loves me, I just think about Angel. She’ll never love me the way I love her- the way she loves him. I’ve come to grips with that. Maybe those two deserve to be together- anyway, there’s never anything for Spike. But I have a feeling I’ll amount to something in her eyes before this is all over. I may die, sure, but at least she’d remember me the way she thinks about Angel now- as a champion; a fighter.

I love how she feels in my arms now. I wish she could always need me this much. She’s not fighting. Not trying to forget something- she’s just Buffy. Not even that- she’s just a girl. It almost scares me that she would leave it to me to comfort her like this. I wonder how she’ll feel when she wakes up. If she’ll pretend to be disgusted and treat this like it’s nothing, or if she’ll know what it means to me. Maybe she’ll do both. Probably, knowing my luck.

What I did to her before… I’ll never forgive myself. No one else will, either. Understandable, really. The Kid looks at me with daggers in his eyes. But after what he did to Anya- I’m not sure how he has the right to judge anything I’ve done in the area of broads, myself. Red’s gentle about it, oh yeah, but I see something steely and hard inside of her when it comes to me. And Ripper- well, let’s not go into that. He’d blow me off the face of the fucking planet if he were given half a chance. Buffy’s got more love and more support than she can ever dream of. They all hate me. But they rely on me all the time. So ironic.

She’s stirring now, mumbling in her sleep slightly and frowning. I prepare to wake her up from a nightmare, but she sleeps on. I smile to myself and realize that my right arm has been shot to pins and needles, but I would gladly suffer more than that to have her in this position. Tenderly I smooth back her glinting, shiny blond hair. For the first time, I feel tired myself.

As I tense up to fight an oncoming wave of sleep, some part of her unconsciously protests and causes her to go into a death grip on my shoulder. I relax, wanting her peace to last forever. I don’t know why I think of it- Some ancient Indian pundit bloke I murdered had a catchy mantra: that everyone should live their life so that if they were doomed to repeat a day (or night, in my case) for all eternity, they would gladly do it. I never set much store by that until now. Funny how random things could come back and make sense when you're least thinking of them.

As much as I want to stay awake, the next thing I know I’m giving in to a content oblivion that I haven’t experienced in decades. The last thing I see before I black out is Buffy’s face, innocent and serene, the nightmare gone. I’m supposed to watch her all night. Once again, I’m letting her down. A part of me doesn’t care… but the larger part of me does. I want to be the one to protect and love her when she needs it. Not bloody Giles, not bloody Willow, not bloody Harris, not bloody Angel… not bloody anyone else. Me.

Never thought love would turn my head again. I may be love’s bitch, but at least I’m still man enough to admit it.


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