Lew is out in the middle of the field, just like he always is. The sun is just starting to sink below the horizon, and there are shadows everywhere. Spike weaves between the other people, careful not to step on any flowers. When he reaches his friend, he collapses next to him.
"I brought beer," he says, popping the top off of one and passing it to Lew. He watches everyone else for a while, silently, just giving himself a chance to breath. "It was a long day," he says finally. "You shouldn't have missed it. This guy, he's a railroad worker who's been ripping people off, and one of his customers got really pissed… Greg got him, though. We won. Winthrop's going to jail, and the peace has been kept." Spike grins to himself and takes a swig from his bottle.
"Jules," he says, and laughs. "Remember how strong she was when we first joined the team? Now, imagine that, and add it together with… I don't know, Superwoman. She was amazing today, let me tell you. A real inspiration." He exhales.
"Greg's crazy as always. Thinks he's playing God, even though he tells everyone – everyone, he tells us daily, now – that we can't change fate. All of that crap. You know how he is." He clinks his glass against Lew's. "Always trying to play the hero, even if there's nobody to be saved."
The wind whistles through the trees surrounding the green, and he watches a clump of leaves roll past. The colors are starting to change already; reds and oranges are appearing, striking out against the deep blue of the September sky. It's getting cold, too. He tells Lew so, tells him how he woke up that morning to find frost on the grass.
"The weather's changing. And they say global warming isn't real, eh?"
Lew doesn't say anything. Spike turns his gaze to the horizon, sprawling back across the grass. He's in his streets, but all he really wants is to go home and find his most comfortable pajamas. He's achy from training and exhausted – both mentally and physically – from the day's work. Nothing was easy anymore.
"Sam's an ass," he says, and laughs out loud. "I love that man like a brother, but god, he's… he's Sam. Cocky, arrogant, hard-headed – but he's a great guy. Blessed to have him on Team One. And Ed, oh, man, Eddie. I don't know what we would do without him."
A couple, huddled together against the brisk wind, walks past. They don't make eye contact. Spike finishes off his beer and pulls out another.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." He shakes his head. "Two beers means walking home. But days like today, you know?" He takes a long pull and leans back against his arm, staring up at the few stars that had begun to appear.
"I never noticed her before. Winnie, I mean. Is that bad? Does that make me a bad guy, not noticing the women I work with? Or does that make me less of a pervert? And even then… is it stupid that I'm thinking about her in the first place?" He glances at his friend, but Lew offers nothing. Spike just shakes his head. "I don't know. Would it be weird? Office romances, you know what they say…"
He trails off and picks the label off his beer absentmindedly, bits of paper falling into the grass at his side. Then he sighs and sits up, cradling it between the soles of his boots.
"Greg almost left," he says softly. "I was taken hostage, Sam's sister could have died, Sam, Raf, Jules, Ed— they were almost blown to bits, and then Jules gets hit by shrapnel – I don't blame him, you know? For going crazy. Hell, I think I'm a little bit loony myself. I'm talking to a headstone, for God's sake!"
He rips a handful of grass from the ground, then replaces it, tears prickling in his eyes. He looks anywhere but the grave, trying to find something the least bit happy to distract him – all around him, though, are sites marking where the bodies of people – too young, too soon, too dead – are laid to rest.
He jerks himself upright and leans against Lew's headstone, one hand pressed against his face. His beer falls over in the grass and spills out, covering a good amount of space before coming to a rest. Spike wonders, stupidly, if Lew could get buzzed off of that. He laughs despite himself and shakes his head.
"Why'd you do it, buddy?" he asks, eyes turned up to blink away the tears. "Why'd you have to be so brave?"
Eventually, he gathers himself again, regaining the ability to stand on his own. He nudges the six pack closer to Lew with the toe of his boot and digs his hands deep into his pockets.
"So, hey," he says. "If you're really still here as, you know, a ghost… come visit sometime, yeah? The new apartment is pretty lonely."
He turns and walks away, weaving in and around broken families. The cemetery is empty and the sky is dark, the moon lending its solitary light, guiding him back towards his car. Once he reaches it, he just sits in the driver's seat for a minute, thinking about his best friend. Before he can get emotional again, though, he starts the ignition.
When he reaches the first light on the road home, he hears a voice somewhere in the back of his mind. It's no more than a whisper – not scary, not startling, not a sign of insanity; just… calm. Warm. Friendly.
"Thanks for the beer."
I can't take all the credit for this one - rgs38's "Some Things Never Change" inspired me to have him talk to the grave. I hope it's not a complete rip-off of that, and I urge you to go read it, because it's really quite powerful. The wedding fic - you guys didn't think I could stop writing angst for too long, did you? ;)