A crowded train station. Two figures stand out among the heaving throngs who rush about dragging suitcases and young children, screaming into cell phones and arguing with fellow passengers at the doors into the train compartments. These two watch the rushing people with a detached interest, holding hands with the same detachment - as if the gesture is done more out of habit than love. It is as if they are observing a science experiment rather than living as a part of it.
WILLOW.
All the happy couples on their way to New Orleans,
Reminding me of when we got along…
Spike looks at her almost scoldingly. There is a note of bitterness in his interruption.
SPIKE.
They're only renting time and space to fill up with their dreams…
WILLOW.
…And dreams are what they'll have when they have gone!
She looks at him as if to ask "And what do we have?" Spike turns away, his eyes on the crowd but not really seeing them.
SPIKE.
How could it be that I was born without a clue to carry on
And still it is the same now I am older?
Armed with just a will and then this love for singing songs…
He sneers.
…And minding less and less if I am colder.
Willow looks at him, but he refuses to meet her eyes. She sighs. Their hands separate. Her following words are not said to anybody in particular.
WILLOW.
But I have this funny ache, and it's burning in my chest.
And it spreads just like a fire inside my body.
She crosses her arms, seeming at that moment very vulnerable. Still, Spike refuses to notice her.
WILLOW.
So did something get left out in my spirit or my flesh?
Would I be saved… if I were brave and had a baby?
At last, Spike turns to her. He puts his hands on her shoulders. There is no love in his motion. It is a gesture made out of friendship, rather. Not true love.
SPIKE.
It was never clear what would come, but that's the risk and that's the test…
Willow steps back and takes one of Spike's hands as he lowers them from her shoulders. She stares at his fingers, playing with the palm of his hand in the manner of a fortuneteller.
WILLOW.
…And you were the only one so far to follow…
And no one talks about when one might stop and need to rest…
Spike watches her playing with his hand. He seems angry.
SPIKE.
…Or how long you sit alone before you stop looking back.
It's like you're waiting for Godot,
And then you pick your sorry ass up off the street and…
BOTH.
…Go.
They simultaneously raise their eyes to look at each other. Spike refuses to give in to anything other than anger. He throws his hands up into the air, frustrated, referring to their relationship:
SPIKE.
And what the Hell is this? Who made this bloody mess??
Willow frowns accusingly at him.
WILLOW.
And someone always answers like a martyr!
Spike narrows his eyes.
WILLOW.
Is it something you should know? Did you never do your best?!
Spike slaps her, the pain from the chip registering on his face with the anger.
SPIKE.
Would you be saved if you were brave and just tried harder??
Willow, devastated, grabs her bags and rushes onto the train in tears just as the whistle blows, announcing the train's departure. Spike glues his infuriated gaze to her compartment door until the train has disappeared from sight. On the train, much later:
WILLOW.
So now I ride the aught one-thirty-five to New Orleans.
I float a mile above Life's toil and trouble.
Her eyes seem almost happy as she looks out the window to the landscape rushing by, beautiful to her even though it is cloaked by night. Cut to Spike, still standing on the deserted train platform. His eyes are full of regret. Tears pour down his cheeks.
SPIKE.
A thousand lonely lifetimes I still wait and then go on…
A clown to entertain the happy couples.
At last, he turns and trudges off, leaving the train tracks behind him.