In the Thick of It
by Isabelle
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala. Song by Bob Dylan "Love Sick"
Summary: She can remember when she loved him, when she loved herself.
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I'm walking through streets that are dead
Walking, walking with you in my head
My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired
And the clouds are weeping
She remembered the day she realized she could lose him. All those weeks ago. Giles had stalled her, had taken her attention away from what was important. Wood had almost killed him.
She had run like the fire that day, run like there was no tomorrow, she had never ran that fast for any other man, her was the air that was going through her hair, she couldn't live without her life she couldn't live without her soul.
But now....she wondered if she had killed him and herself on her way.
She screamed, screamed like she had no throat, screamed like the world was ending screamed....
"Ahhhhh!!!!"
She screamed for hours. Huddled in her own little corner where her own little world passed by were her own little universe was not so ok.
He was not moving and neither did she have any voice left.
Was she dead? Could you die from screaming? Could you die from guilt?
She must've passed out because she was no longer in her own body.
Just walking, she was just walking, barefoot and in nothing but a sheer white dress. Down some European streets, down, passing children playing, passing women tending to the necessities of the house. Just walking.
She felt free, walking past young lovers that got lost in each other's eyes.
Did I hear someone tell a lie?
Did I hear someone's distant cry?
I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile
While I was sleeping
The wind went through her hair and it was all right, he was ok, she could feel it in her skin.
"Wake up..." a mere whisper of a word.
But she wanted to keep feeling the wind in her hair, the show downs under her skin rejoiced.
"Luv...wake up."
This was not heaven, definitely not heaven. In heaven she wouldn't have known she had killed and let her self be killed by her own guilt.
Arms went around her and her against something warm and hard.
"Shhh, no crying, pet."
Was she crying? Was she weeping? How would they know, she was just a normal girl?
Was it a dream, was she gone or had she entered heaven, when it meant being surrounded by his love for the rest of eternity.
"Spike?"
"It's ok, I'm ok pet, no need to cry...."
She was naked once more, so was he. Looking up to his face, blood dripped from his lip. As if entranced she reached up to touch it, watch it meet her pale skin, watch it join her skin. Blood brothers.
"I hurt you..." she whispered, a realization, a confession.
She remembered, she had demanded his love. She would take no less. She had hit him. The force of a slayer against his poor little human head. The cranium she could smash between her small powerful hands. She was a killer, a brutal killer.
She gasped.
"I....I'm sorry!" she wheezed, taking her last breath from her. "I just...I just wanted you to love me." she sobbed against his blood, the blood that had given him life for so long...she wanted it out of him.
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I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it
This kind of love I'm so sick of it
She stopped crying three hours later.
He never left her side, pressing his naked body against her naked back, warming her with his scent, his coarse pubic hairs, softly rasping her backside. She felt content there, holding his penis between her legs. Here she was in control, yet completely vulnerable.
"You never told me what your mother was like."
She felt his entire body tense, a rapid emotion for the emotionless.
"Nice lady, I told you." He withdrew from her, pushing her away. But she held his arms. She needed to know of times past when people were alive not dead like they were.
Time where things smelled like honey and flowers flourished in Spring.
I see, I see lovers in the meadow
I see, I see silhouettes in the window
I watch them 'til they're gone and they leave me hanging on
To a shadow
"What did she smell like, how warm were her lips against your cheek, did her arms bring any comfort? Did she love you? What is your first memory of her? What is your last..."
"She smelled like rose water... and fresh bread. Like when Mary baked it in the morning...her lips were always warm against my cheek, and her arms....her arms always brought me comfort... she loved me. Loved me more than anyone on this earth ever will. I remember when I was but 5 or 6...I got sick...and she stayed with me until I was better. Told me stories, sang me songs... I remember her eyes in the morning. They were bluest in the morning, when the sun was lending them it's rays...and my last...I don't remember."
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They slept like that until their own stomachs begged them for nutrition. Until they laughed at the noises they made.
Walked hand in hand they did to the Chinese restaurant he'd seen. They ate rice and egg rolls. No meat. They were both stayed off meat and flesh.
Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder
Sometimes I wanna take to the road and plunder
Could you ever be true?
I think of you
And I wonder
It reminded her of time when they were real, when shadows were not the living but the dead and when standing outside, in the sun with Spike felt like a dream.
But now it was sensible, ordained and real.
Was she born for this? For this darkness and futile attempts at living? What would they do tomorrow? What would they do tonight? When the love she begged for he was never ever going to be able to give it to her?
Sand would tell.
She was in love. Had been for some time and she hated it. But love...love had nothing to do with it.
Just don't know what to do
I'd give anything to
Be with you
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Sand is Made