Disclaimer: Don't own anyone but Sammy, although I must admit – he tells me how to write him. Vince owns the WWF, the wrestlers own themselves. Nirvana owns 'Alcohol/High On The Hog' and 'Molly's Lips'. I own a biscuit and Leon.
Reprise
I sat at the kitchen table, fingering a photo of my mom and… dad. A long, long time ago. Dad. How could I say that word? I didn't know him. The man I had called 'Father' for years… he was a lie. He wasn't in any way related to me, except that my mother had married him, too weak to survive on her own – without Spike.
And I didn't understand. If mom loved Spike, if my mom had never stopped loving Spike… then why did she marry Michael Cole? Why did she lie to him, saying that Cole was his father? Why hadn't she tried to preserve Spike's memory?
No, wait. That wasn't entirely correct. She had preserved Spike's memory – just in her own, private way. Her memorial to him – locked in a small, wooden box, to be seen by her eyes only.
I'd thought my life was fine, and perfect. And then a man who'd been dead sixteen years had to find his way into my life. A man I'd never met, or had a need to.
A man I'd never have a chance to meet.
"Frustrating, isn't it?" A voice said from across the kitchen table. I looked up. A man with longish, wispy blonde hair, wearing a Dudleys t – shirt and camouflage pants, sat there. His eyes were a deep hazel, and sort of confusing to look into, but respectful and friendly seeming. Thick black glasses sat on his nose, taped in the center. Scruffy hair covered his chin, encircling his mouth. He gave off a sort of runt – feisty – rascal - good guy vibe. And he beamed across the table at me, the same friendliness in his eyes reflected in his smile.
I was too shocked to say anything. My mouth just hung open. I noticed when he smiled, it looked almost like his eyes were smiling with his mouth – those eyes seemed to be in chorus with that mouth.
"Confusing, I bet, too. And upsetting. Cole's a good guy. I'm sure at this point you're wishing he really was your dad." He said, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.
"I don't really know what I'm thinking," I finally mumbled. "…Spike."
Spike smiled. "Glad you recognize me."
For a reason I couldn't tell, I was suddenly cold towards him. "I don't know why I should. I've never met you, after all."
Spike's smile faded quicker than I could ever have thought. "It's a little hard to meet dead people. We don't like new acquaintances, after all."
"Dead people? What is this, a joke? Or maybe a hallucination! Great, I'm going crazy. I'm seeing my dead father in the middle of my kitchen. Someone call the damned crazy house, I'm insane!" I said bitterly, slightly sarcastic.
Spike – Dad – ignored me and instead reached across the table, picking up the photo I'd been studying. He looked at it and smiled, almost like an automatic reaction.
"I remember this day. I was happy this day. So was she… we went out and got ice cream, and I got ice cream on my nose… she wouldn't tell me why she kept laughing… and finally, when she told me, I poked her in the nose with my ice cream cone, so she had ice cream on her nose, too… she pretended she was mad, but then she kissed the ice cream off my nose, and I did the same to her… that was a great day. Chris Jericho took this picture, right after we kissed…" He sounded very far away, and it took me a minute to realize that the 'she' he was referring to was my mother.
"You loved her," I said simply.
"Yes," Spike sighed again. "More than anything in the world. And I died for her."
"She told me. Stone Cold killed you." I was surprised to see how hard it was for me to say it aloud. Spike nodded quietly.
It was at that moment when Mom decided to come into the room.
"Sammy, are you o-" She began to say. But she trailed off, stopping her tracks. Her jaw dropped open.
"Spike?" She whispered, her eyes wide. I'd never seen my mom look so young.
Spike stood up, approaching her. He was grinning ear to ear. He nodded. Mom walked to him slowly, like she was in a dream. She kissed him on the lips, holding him as tight as she could. Spike was definitely not protesting, and I felt kind of weirded out – this was my mother I was watching kissing a dead guy.
Mom pulled away. And then she slapped him across the face. Spike's head snapped to one side, then he turned back to her. "I guess I deserved that," He mumbled.
"You said you weren't coming back. You said I needed to get on with my life." She whispered.
"I know," Spike said softly, looking at his feet.
"You left me," Mom said, softly. Tears were in her eyes, and I wanted to run over and comfort her. My mother and I had always been close, and I wanted her to be happy.
I was just about to face off to Spike, to ask him who the hell he thought he was, when Mom hugged him around the middle tightly, resting her head on his shoulder and letting tears fall freely. "I've missed you," She sobbed. "Oh god, how I've missed you."
"I don't think you could know," Spike whispered. "I don't think you know."
I was silent, awed by what I saw. I didn't know what to do, so I just sat mutely in my chair at the kitchen table, watching them, feeling like I was a spectator at a theater. Both my – parents, I guess – ignored my presence totally, and I don't blame them. I mean, they were seeing each other for the first time in… a long while, I'm guessing.
"Why are you back now?" Mom asked, wiping her tears out of her eyes.
"Why do you think?" Spike asked. It wasn't sarcastic, or mean, the question was asked lightly, seriously.
"I don't know. I don't care." Mom said, avoiding his eyes. Spike grabbed her face and turned it gently towards his, looking sternly at her. It was almost fatherly in a way.
"You do. You care. And you know, I think." He said, the same feeling reflected in his voice.
"Because I looked at the pictures?" She asked weakly, stubbornly.
"No," He said, shaking his head.
"Then why? Why, Spike! Why did you have to come back now? What makes you think I need you now? That I want you?" She shouted, her words biting and harsh. Spike swallowed, obviously hurt, and I saw a look flicker across my mother's face – the look that meant she wanted to comfort you, but she was supposed to be reprimanding you, so she couldn't.
Spike was silent for few moments. When he spoke, the words were clear and specific. "If you didn't want me in your life – or your sons's -" He began, slowly meeting Mom's eyes. "Then why did you choose to finally tell him about me, about what happened?"
Mom was silently crying, biting her lip. Again, I wanted to hit this man who I knew to be my family for all he'd done to her.
"That's what brought you back," She finally said.
Spike nodded. "You… you have no right to be here," She said, gritting her teeth. Spike frowned. "No right? Molly, he's my son!"
"Spike, I'm married! On your recommendation, I might add! You wanted me to forget you, you wanted me to leave you because you were dead! You wanted me to go to Cole, and I did, and now that's who I am! That's who Sammy is. Molly H. Cole. Sammy D. Cole. That's what we are, Spike!" Mom was shouting again. I felt pained – I hated it when she shouted.
"Wait, mom," I said, to mine and her surprise. I think she'd forgotten I was there. Spike looked at me almost warily, not knowing what I would do. "It's not his fault that he – that he… died. And he died for you. He told you to go with Da – Michael - because he didn't want you to be alone." I turned to Spike. "Did you?"
Spike smiled slowly, the grin spreading across his face like I always imagined the smile of the Cheshire Cat had in a Louis Caroll book. Mom's mouth was open in shock, and I felt bad suddenly.
"He's just like you," Mom said to Spike, half horrified, half marveling. "He's just like you."
Spike just smiled.
Spike suggested that he and I take a walk. Mom opted to stay behind, locking herself in her room. When she did, Spike frowned, almost taking a step forward, but stopping himself. "No," He muttered, shaking his head. "She needs her time."
We walked through the local park, which, as usual, was almost completely empty. I suddenly found myself with a thousand or more questions.
"What's it like being dead? Does dying hurt? Is heaven nice? Can everyone see you? Does it look like I'm just talking to myself and am a looney?" I asked, talking a mile a minute. Spike laughed.
"Slow down there, Sam. You do need breath in your lungs for that pesky thing they call 'living', you know." He laughed again. The more time I spent with him, the more I found myself liking Spike. "Being dead is… not like anything, actually. The closest thing to compare it to is being locked in a blank room, all alone, forever and ever, with only a tv monitor showing you your loved ones living while you can't. Dying hurting – considering I was beaten to death with a chair, I'd have to say yes. A very loud YES!" To punctuate his point, or maybe he really was lonely, he shouted 'yes!'. "As for Heaven, well… I've pretty much been wandering around and watching the people that I loved – or hated – when I was alive. Haven't had any time to go to 'Heaven' – and I don't even know if one exists. To tell the truth, I think that the real 'Heaven' is being with your family, your friends – the people you love. Hold onto those, Sammy, because you're going to miss it when they're gone – or when you're gone." Spike looked thoughtful for a minute.
"No, not everyone can see me. No one can, except for you, and your mother. If someone saw you talking to me, yes, you probably would look like a looney." Spike shrugged.
"But… why can Mom and I see you, then?" I asked, still confused.
Spike sighed, stopping for a second, looking up at the sky. I followed his eyes up. "The sky looks beautiful up there, doesn't it?" He said. " I miss the sky. I miss seeing clouds, and stars, and seeing them with Molly…" I chewed my lip. Talking to Spike was, respectively, both fun and depressing. It sounded like his life had been around my mom.
"I really missed Molly," He said, finally. "I loved her more than anything in the world. I would have died for her – and, when given the chance, I did. And she missed me. She wanted me alive, more than anything – and because she did, I was – to her."
"But that doesn't explain why I see you," I protested. I didn't know if I wanted to be pulled into this craziness. At this point, I was deciding that I was going to wake up tomorrow morning in a crazy house, and this would all have been a dream, and my mother would be visiting and bringing me hot chicken noodle soup and my daily dose of Lithium.
"When Molly told you about me, you wanted to know more. You wanted to know me – you wanted the truth. You wanted to understand, to really understand things, as they were, not as you'd thought they were. In just a few hours after knowing who I was… your greatest wish was that I was alive, was that you could meet me and know the truth." He must have seen my disbelieving look. "It's true. It was your greatest wish – even if you didn't know it."
"Why don't we start going back home?" I said, too freaked out to even think about any of this right now.
Spike shrugged, and we turned around, walking back to the Cole household.
//My baby
taught me how to be
My baby taught me how to fight
My baby taught me how to die
Alcohol, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol//
Molly drank, letting reeking, firey amber slip down her throat, burning her lungs. She drank, and drank, because she didn't know what else to do right now. She couldn't cope with the world right now – she couldn't do this alone. And so, she was turning to something she'd never even had before – alcohol.
The bottles of whiskey were Michael's, and she'd always nagged him to get rid of them. He hadn't, and now she was glad for it.
Molly was so drunk currently that she didn't hear the door slam. "Molly?" A very familiar voice said.
Molly's eyes were out of focus. She couldn't see who was squatting in front of her, looking into her eyes. Everything was double.
"Spike?" She asked, her words slightly slurred.
Whoever it was frowned. "No, Molly. It's Michael – your husband. Michael."
For some reason this was making her upset – but Molly couldn't think why. So instead, she simply said, "Oh. Hi,"
"Molly, you're drunk, Hon." He said.
Molly cringed. "Don't call me that. I'm not your Molly. I'm his Molly. I'm just married to you."
//My baby taught me how to smoke
My baby taught me how to breathe
My baby taught me how to hide
My baby taught me how to leave
Alcohol, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol//
Sammy opened the door, using his key. Spike followed him in. They had been talking – and, shockingly, laughing – all the way home, and Sammy was surprised how easily he got along with Spike.
"Mom? We're back…" Sammy called. He entered, the kitchen, and stopped. Spike stopped by him, and Sammy could almost hear his pain. Molly sat slumped against one of the floor cabinets, completely guttered, a bottle in her hand. Michael stood over her, speaking to her. He turned, looking at Sammy.
"Thank god you're home, Sammy. Molly's gone –" And then Michael's jaw dropped. Sammy frowned.
"Dad –" The word seemed almost forced now. " – what's wrong?" Sammy asked, confused.
"You're… he's… he's dead!" He gasped, pointing to Spike, standing beside Sammy. Spike shrugged.
"Yeah, I guess, but…" Sammy said slowly. How could his dad seem Spike? He was a ghost or something, wasn't he?
"Oh my god," Michael breathed. He poked Spike in the arm, and Spike pulled away. "What the hell's wrong with you?" He asked, irritated. "Help me with her," Spike went to Molly, pulling her off the floor. Michael took the bottle of whiskey away from her, looking pale.
"Give me that…" Molly whimpered. Spike shook his head. "No. That's not something you need more of right now."
"Please?" Molly asked, looking up at him, her eyes glazed and hazy.
"No, Molls. You don't need it. Why were you drinking?" He asked sternly.
Molly swayed in his arms, seeming to be completely out of it. "Molly?" Spike asked, unsure.
And then she kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's why," She finally muttered. Michael looked crushed, turning away from the couple and drifting out of the room. Sammy just stood in the doorway, feeling totally lost.
Spike brought Molly to her bedroom, laying her down. With much convincing, Sammy was able to get Michael to sit with him in the kitchen, while Spike took care of Molly. "He knows what he's doing," Sammy said, putting an unnatural amount of faith into his father.
//My baby taught me how to choke
My baby taught me how to eat
My baby taught me how to fuck
My baby taught me how to be
Molly fell asleep, and Spike lay next to her, just listening to her breath and her heartbeat, for hours.
It was around one am when she stirred. Spike looked at her, holding her against his shoulder. She curled against him, softly opening her eyes.
"Spike," She whispered.
"Hey, Molls." He smiled at her.
Molly attempted to sit up, and winced. "My head hurts," Spike stroked her hair, giving her a sympathetic look. "It should,"
//She said
She'd take me anywhere
She'd take me anywhere
As long as she stays with me//
"You drank a lot of alcohol," Spike said, hugging her close.
"I remember," She said. "And I hate me for it." She instinctively snuggled against his chest, curling in on herself.
"You shouldn't. I was the one who drove you to it… right?" Spike said, self – loathingly.
"Not you. The shock of seeing you. I thought you were gone forever. Then you just… came back, and, well…" Her voice trailed off.
//She said
She'd take me anywhere
She'd take me anywhere
As long as I stayed here//
"Do you want me to go? I'll leave. You have Michael. And Sammy… you have Sammy." Spike said, his voice breaking.
"No. You can't go. I watched you leave once, Spike Dudley, and I hated myself, and sometimes you, for it, every day since. I don't want to feel like that again. When I'm with you, I'm happy… it's always that way." Molly said, determined.
"I'm dead, Molly. And you need to let go. Your life is with Michael now…" Spike began.
Molly began to protest, but Spike pressed a lifeless finger to her lips. "… but if you need me, if you really need me… I'll stay."
Molly kissed him, her arms around her neck. "I love you, Spike. And not even death can change that."
//Kiss kiss
Molly's lips
Kiss kiss
Molly's lips//
And Spike kissed her back.