As usual, I own nothing.
The words. There are no words that convey exactly what we mean to say. No wrote phrases can truly show an individual perception of reality. The words. Words are meaningless. How many whispered 'I love you's have poisoned the minds of lovers in heat only to be turned aside or forgotten as sunlight pokes its nose bringing the unholy tryst reluctantly into reality. Words you can't take back, but you can. Words belie and belittle something profound and buildup and pronounce falsehood into belief. Actions speak so much louder. The action of shifting the gear on the motorcycle as it rounds the corner shows control and competence and above all things, purpose.
The bike pulls to a stop and the leather clad individual drops the zipper down their front letting the cooler breeze penetrate against the harsh light of day. Pale skin belies the graceful handling of the metal monster now being left behind at the curb with a worn down old blue ford it's only companion in the otherwise deserted lot. The traveler is still used to doing so by moonlight and ventures now into the sun do so something they'd meant to do for so long now.
"Hello, hero. Wait, this is wrong." The leather clad hand is held up palm out and a few breaths mark the time of reorganized thoughts. The jacket is stripped and tossed aside with gloves and helmet quickly joining it and it is a warrior divulged of armor now standing, waiting, for approval. The words start again and the feeling of presentation is gone. Two old friends, old lovers, there to reconnect if only temporarily.
"I never got the chance to tell you before how much I needed you. Now, I'm not here to promise myself that something miraculous will happen or that I could ever be truly worthy of you, but I just need to say these words that echo through the empty hotel room during the day because if I don't then I'm not sure they'll ever be said. Oh I wish I could have been there. I wish someone would have told me, but that's no excuse. I let everyone believe something that wasn't, something that kept people I love out of my life, and because of that I lost you. I know, you were never really mine, I know that. I could never think to keep hold of something like you. But the choice was made and my life went on without you in it, without anyone in it. It was all a big distraction, I guess. Wrapping myself up in the world of doing good and redemption and feeling and it was all to keep my mind off of you, especially when I thought you were out of my grasp. You had something better." The tears run unabashed down to the edge of the weary dust covered chin and drop onto the grass a second before the jean cushioned knees buckle and collapse. The sobbing starts and the sound of the breeze in the trees is the only accompaniment for the lone individual kneeling next to the tombstone.
"Every night I save you. Every night you save me. From myself. From what I could have been without you in my life. Every night I find you again and every night it's like getting the call all over again. Every night I love you." Fingers applied to eyes attempt to blot away the tears and restore some semblance of peace to tired features. Fingers tentatively reach out for the touch of cool stone and trace the letters meant to symbolize the true hero interned here. Hours pass and with the encroaching night a sense of calm washes over the emotionally spent body. As the imagined touch of soft lips to the forehead picks the head up, eyes scan the change in surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. The cemetery is empty of both threats and onlookers so after a minute of re-donning leather the boots make their way back across the manicured lawn and one gets thrown over the seat to rest on the kick start lever.
"Good bye, my love. I hope you don't think less of me." The bike roars to life and the back tire peels out as she squeals around the corner back onto the road that will take her to the interstate and, eventually, arms of comfort whose invitation she still feels somewhat guilty for accepting. Beneath the tree a match flares to life and touches briefly to the tip of a cigarette. The face watching her retreat back to her dark angel is without regret or remorse and could only be called wistful. The breeze picks up and eyes flick to dancing smoke blown aside as just that much dust on the wind but the plastered down short blond locks remain unfazed as spike's face widens in a slow and calculating smile.
"Good bye, Buffy." The words mean nothing; it's the action that's important.
The end.
Maybe.
A/N: Please review, I've got some follow up ideas but I can't be sure of posting them if there won't be a response. Thanks for the time.