A/N: Requested by prpl_pen on Livejournal, drabble post 9/28/09.
Prompt: veil
Disclaimer: I don't own the original work this is derived from. This work is complete, and its brevity is intentional.
Enjoy!
x.x.x
nightingale, teach me to fly
x.x.x
He almost doesn't send the letter.
The red mailbox waits patiently, jaws agape, as he struggles with himself. Finally, with a spasmic gesture something like a blow, he pushes the stamped envelope in and turns to walk away briskly. His hands fidget in his pockets.
His name is Spike, he is a vampire, and he is in love. Being a vampire and rather old, he has little memory of what it feels like and what it means to the living, but he needs to know before he stumbles into something in the dark and breaks his foolish heart.
Hence the letter, which is addressed to a nearly ordinary living girl named Tara. Of all the humans he knows, she is the most likely to answer without mocking him, with real honesty, and she is the only one he would trust with a secret. The others loathe him with varying degrees of intensity and... just because he is dead does not mean he's forgotten feeling altogether, just some of their names, and humilation is not one of the lost ones. She is also the one who loves most truly. That's important.
This thin veil of caution and secrecy is all that protects his precious pride.
A week later, a reply comes, written in delicate but sure script.
Dear Spike, it says (and trust Tara to preface it with 'dear' even though he's done nothing to deserve it):
Try not to hurt her in ways she doesn't like.
Sincerely,
Tara
And that's all there is to it. He reads it over again, and again, and finally understands. He also understands something about Tara, something worth knowing: she has, as he did once a long time ago, looked midnight in the face without blinking and kept what she saw in her heart. That makes her worth talking to.
He tucks the letter into his pocket and walks smiling into the dark.
X.x.X