Bury the Needle
By Mayfly
Feedback: Makes the toes curl. Mayfly1013@aol.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Seeing Red
A/N for my motorcycle gearhead Fundie of a husband that
thinks Spike gets what he deserves because he's
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeevil. Chen, you were a lifesaver as
always. Dipping into Colleen's bucket o' angst.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bury the Needle
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Urban sprawl yielded to the rolling hills of a darkened
countryside, whisking by at a hundred miles an hour.
Seven counties and three hundred miles later, there
could never be enough distance between him and the
mistakes he'd made. He tried to outrun it, tried to get
ahead of it, but Spike couldn't beat the guilt that
lapped angrily at his heels. He didn't dare look in the
rearview mirror, didn't dream of looking behind him. It
was there as sure as the sun was waiting below the
horizon. It would never leave.
Twisting the throttle, he pushed his motorcycle to its
limit, letting it scream its might to the wind as the
tachometer's needle buried further into the red. His
hands were numb from the constant vibration of the
handlebars, and he could no longer feel his feet. He'd
only stopped once to refill the gas tank, pausing
briefly for a tasteless cigarette before resuming his
trek. By the time he reached Nevada, his back ached in
protest as well. But it was no match to the blinding
pain deep within his heart.
Even above the roar of the engine, he could still hear
her pleas to stop, her cries of pain. If he closed his
eyes, her face would be there, the fury and horror
plainly obvious as she clutched her torn bathrobe robe
tight against her chest. Another promise broken.
Why had he done it? He'd sworn he'd never hurt her. Yet
he could still smell her fear. A monster had attacked
her, one with human hands and a mortal face. But no
soul. No moral compass to stop it when it tried to claim
what didn't belong to it. That bloody monster had taken
the one shred of trust that she'd clung to and pissed
all over it.
Why hadn't he done it? The demon within mocked his
failure. Vampires don't hesitate. Want. Take. Have. It
was their code. Mercy and shame weren't supposed to be
familiar bedfellows.
Neither monster nor man, he treaded in both worlds but
belonged in neither.
And until he figured out just where he belonged, he
didn't deserve to be around anyone or anything. Until
then, his only companion would be the endless miles of
asphalt. It didn't pass judgment, didn't remind him of
what he was. Destination unknown, he continued to head
east, racing toward the approaching sunrise, ready to
meet it and his fate head on.
The wind tore at his eyes, ripping a stream of tears
open in its painful wake until he didn't know where the
wind stopped and his grief added to the flow. Crouching
into a tuck, he willed his bike to speed down the
highway a bit faster. One-ten, one-twenty. It still
wasn't fast enough. It never would be.
By Mayfly
Feedback: Makes the toes curl. Mayfly1013@aol.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Seeing Red
A/N for my motorcycle gearhead Fundie of a husband that
thinks Spike gets what he deserves because he's
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeevil. Chen, you were a lifesaver as
always. Dipping into Colleen's bucket o' angst.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bury the Needle
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Urban sprawl yielded to the rolling hills of a darkened
countryside, whisking by at a hundred miles an hour.
Seven counties and three hundred miles later, there
could never be enough distance between him and the
mistakes he'd made. He tried to outrun it, tried to get
ahead of it, but Spike couldn't beat the guilt that
lapped angrily at his heels. He didn't dare look in the
rearview mirror, didn't dream of looking behind him. It
was there as sure as the sun was waiting below the
horizon. It would never leave.
Twisting the throttle, he pushed his motorcycle to its
limit, letting it scream its might to the wind as the
tachometer's needle buried further into the red. His
hands were numb from the constant vibration of the
handlebars, and he could no longer feel his feet. He'd
only stopped once to refill the gas tank, pausing
briefly for a tasteless cigarette before resuming his
trek. By the time he reached Nevada, his back ached in
protest as well. But it was no match to the blinding
pain deep within his heart.
Even above the roar of the engine, he could still hear
her pleas to stop, her cries of pain. If he closed his
eyes, her face would be there, the fury and horror
plainly obvious as she clutched her torn bathrobe robe
tight against her chest. Another promise broken.
Why had he done it? He'd sworn he'd never hurt her. Yet
he could still smell her fear. A monster had attacked
her, one with human hands and a mortal face. But no
soul. No moral compass to stop it when it tried to claim
what didn't belong to it. That bloody monster had taken
the one shred of trust that she'd clung to and pissed
all over it.
Why hadn't he done it? The demon within mocked his
failure. Vampires don't hesitate. Want. Take. Have. It
was their code. Mercy and shame weren't supposed to be
familiar bedfellows.
Neither monster nor man, he treaded in both worlds but
belonged in neither.
And until he figured out just where he belonged, he
didn't deserve to be around anyone or anything. Until
then, his only companion would be the endless miles of
asphalt. It didn't pass judgment, didn't remind him of
what he was. Destination unknown, he continued to head
east, racing toward the approaching sunrise, ready to
meet it and his fate head on.
The wind tore at his eyes, ripping a stream of tears
open in its painful wake until he didn't know where the
wind stopped and his grief added to the flow. Crouching
into a tuck, he willed his bike to speed down the
highway a bit faster. One-ten, one-twenty. It still
wasn't fast enough. It never would be.