Title: Ashes to Ashes.
Author: Thalisirwen
Disclaimer: Dru and Spike and the Bufyverse belong to Joss Whedon & Co. Not me.
Rating: PG
Classification: Spike/Dru
Notes: Spikes POV. * * = emphasis. End season 4
Summary: Spike looks back on the past
Feedback: I like feedback. Feedback gives me a happy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.
That's what they say at funerals, isn't it?
Theres a pile of dust on the floor. Reminded me of the phrase.
Reminded me of *her*.
~~~~~~~~
She had come, soon after Adam had gone. We retired to the crypt together.
All through the day, she asked "Does Spike love his princess?" over and over again. Each time, I'd answer the same. "Yes pet. Of course."
She seemed different than before. More tired. The love of unlife had been erased by the ever-growing insanity. The insanity made her tired.
I found her one night, curled up against a gravestone, scratching into the ground with her fingernails. "Oh where is it?" she kept asking, casting her head up to the stars. "Where is it?" Then, when I went to her, she looked at me blankly, without recognition, saying. "I don't know you. Are you here to help me find it?"
The distraught look in her face made me bend down and help her dig in the ground.
"What are we looking for?" I had asked casually.
"The stars....." she answered dreamily.
There was no point telling her they'd been in the sky all the time.
"Look princess," I said, motioning upwards. "The stars. We found them."
Smiling, she allowed me to lead her back into the crypt. It would be daylight soon.
She seemed okay the next day. But I could tell, the fingers of insanity were slowly creeping over her brain, its grasp growing stronger, as her hold on realitly grew weaker, and weaker.
In the night that followed the day, she got worse. She crouched in the corner of the crypt, clutching her head, rocking slowly backwards and forwards. "It's all dark....it's all dark." she murmred to herself. "I can't see...it's all dark." Then as suddenly as it had begun, it ended, and she came to me, asking for blood. I left to get some, leaving a fledgling posted outside. When I returned, I was greeted at the door by a pile of dust. The slayer had been here. I could smell her. If she had hurt my Dru, I'd ...what? Go drown my sorrows at Willys? Huh. Right pair we were, a vampire unable to kill, and a lunatic.
But she was there, in the crypt, looking for something, inspecting every inch of the place.
The insanity had taken over again.
"Miss Edith? Where are you hiding?" she turned to me when I entered. "Miss Edith shall have no cakes today. She is hiding."
I didn't like to point out that she was *holding* Miss Edith, as she had been since I'd left. It might have pushed her over the edge.
She didn't want the blood I brought her. Said a princess only ate tea and cakes.
The fit of madness lasted all night, then on through the day. It never really ended.
She would wake, screaming for Angelus, Miss Edith, blood, pain, ...And Death.
One day, she crawled up to me, holding out a stake.
Her face was the picture of desperation.
"Please? Do it for Princess?"
"Pet?"
"Its takin me over. Do it! Please?" She pushed the point of the stake towards her heart.
But she was weak again.
She put the stake in my lap, gazing up at me, her eyes a mixture of madnes and despair. She knew what was going on. She couldn't face it. Nor could I in the end.
"I'll do it pet. But not today." No, not today. Not *ever* if I could have helped it.
But she always got her own way.
Even in death.
Over the weeks she slowly got worse, screaming, rocking, scratching at her skin until it bled, tearing her clothes to tatters, then in her saner moments, asking me, *begging* me to finish her.
But I couldn't, not yet, not today.
Then one night, it happened.
I was outside, having a fag, a momentary escape from the torment inside.
It was awful, to see her in such pain, confusion, despair. She didn't know what was going on.
She had quietened down for a bit, so I stepped out, unable to just *sit* there, and watch her as she rocked to and fro, eyes wide, mumbling, pulling at her hair, scratching at her white skin.
As I was puffing at my fag, a horrible scream erupted from inside.
Looking in, I saw her. Screaming, scratching her skin, pulling out big lumps of hair, tearing at her clothes. Miss Edith lay, face smashed, on the floor.
It had happened.
She had finally lost all control.
I dropped my fag end on the floor and stamped it out.
"Please? Please?" she screamed at me, clawing at my shirt. "Do it for princess! You promised! Please!" her screams grew louder.
Much as I couldn't bear losing her, I couldn't bear seeing her in such never-ending torment.
It was time.
Only one thing would silence her.
As I drove the stake into her heart, her face grew peaceful. She whispered one word before turning to dust. "Thankyou."
She'd never said that before. Now I'll never hear it again.
Her remains are still there. In a small jar in the crypt. A pile of dust. Ashes.
After she'd gone, I was ready to end it.
I stand, with my hand on the door, ready to open it, greet the sun with open arms.
But I pause, remembering the times without her. And realize I *could* carry on, if I wanted to.
One day, I *will* greet the sun; holding her ashes in my arms as I step into the light.
Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.
Author: Thalisirwen
Disclaimer: Dru and Spike and the Bufyverse belong to Joss Whedon & Co. Not me.
Rating: PG
Classification: Spike/Dru
Notes: Spikes POV. * * = emphasis. End season 4
Summary: Spike looks back on the past
Feedback: I like feedback. Feedback gives me a happy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.
That's what they say at funerals, isn't it?
Theres a pile of dust on the floor. Reminded me of the phrase.
Reminded me of *her*.
~~~~~~~~
She had come, soon after Adam had gone. We retired to the crypt together.
All through the day, she asked "Does Spike love his princess?" over and over again. Each time, I'd answer the same. "Yes pet. Of course."
She seemed different than before. More tired. The love of unlife had been erased by the ever-growing insanity. The insanity made her tired.
I found her one night, curled up against a gravestone, scratching into the ground with her fingernails. "Oh where is it?" she kept asking, casting her head up to the stars. "Where is it?" Then, when I went to her, she looked at me blankly, without recognition, saying. "I don't know you. Are you here to help me find it?"
The distraught look in her face made me bend down and help her dig in the ground.
"What are we looking for?" I had asked casually.
"The stars....." she answered dreamily.
There was no point telling her they'd been in the sky all the time.
"Look princess," I said, motioning upwards. "The stars. We found them."
Smiling, she allowed me to lead her back into the crypt. It would be daylight soon.
She seemed okay the next day. But I could tell, the fingers of insanity were slowly creeping over her brain, its grasp growing stronger, as her hold on realitly grew weaker, and weaker.
In the night that followed the day, she got worse. She crouched in the corner of the crypt, clutching her head, rocking slowly backwards and forwards. "It's all dark....it's all dark." she murmred to herself. "I can't see...it's all dark." Then as suddenly as it had begun, it ended, and she came to me, asking for blood. I left to get some, leaving a fledgling posted outside. When I returned, I was greeted at the door by a pile of dust. The slayer had been here. I could smell her. If she had hurt my Dru, I'd ...what? Go drown my sorrows at Willys? Huh. Right pair we were, a vampire unable to kill, and a lunatic.
But she was there, in the crypt, looking for something, inspecting every inch of the place.
The insanity had taken over again.
"Miss Edith? Where are you hiding?" she turned to me when I entered. "Miss Edith shall have no cakes today. She is hiding."
I didn't like to point out that she was *holding* Miss Edith, as she had been since I'd left. It might have pushed her over the edge.
She didn't want the blood I brought her. Said a princess only ate tea and cakes.
The fit of madness lasted all night, then on through the day. It never really ended.
She would wake, screaming for Angelus, Miss Edith, blood, pain, ...And Death.
One day, she crawled up to me, holding out a stake.
Her face was the picture of desperation.
"Please? Do it for Princess?"
"Pet?"
"Its takin me over. Do it! Please?" She pushed the point of the stake towards her heart.
But she was weak again.
She put the stake in my lap, gazing up at me, her eyes a mixture of madnes and despair. She knew what was going on. She couldn't face it. Nor could I in the end.
"I'll do it pet. But not today." No, not today. Not *ever* if I could have helped it.
But she always got her own way.
Even in death.
Over the weeks she slowly got worse, screaming, rocking, scratching at her skin until it bled, tearing her clothes to tatters, then in her saner moments, asking me, *begging* me to finish her.
But I couldn't, not yet, not today.
Then one night, it happened.
I was outside, having a fag, a momentary escape from the torment inside.
It was awful, to see her in such pain, confusion, despair. She didn't know what was going on.
She had quietened down for a bit, so I stepped out, unable to just *sit* there, and watch her as she rocked to and fro, eyes wide, mumbling, pulling at her hair, scratching at her white skin.
As I was puffing at my fag, a horrible scream erupted from inside.
Looking in, I saw her. Screaming, scratching her skin, pulling out big lumps of hair, tearing at her clothes. Miss Edith lay, face smashed, on the floor.
It had happened.
She had finally lost all control.
I dropped my fag end on the floor and stamped it out.
"Please? Please?" she screamed at me, clawing at my shirt. "Do it for princess! You promised! Please!" her screams grew louder.
Much as I couldn't bear losing her, I couldn't bear seeing her in such never-ending torment.
It was time.
Only one thing would silence her.
As I drove the stake into her heart, her face grew peaceful. She whispered one word before turning to dust. "Thankyou."
She'd never said that before. Now I'll never hear it again.
Her remains are still there. In a small jar in the crypt. A pile of dust. Ashes.
After she'd gone, I was ready to end it.
I stand, with my hand on the door, ready to open it, greet the sun with open arms.
But I pause, remembering the times without her. And realize I *could* carry on, if I wanted to.
One day, I *will* greet the sun; holding her ashes in my arms as I step into the light.
Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.