Title: Listening to You
By: Pandora North Star*
Notes: Story by Me and lyrics from Lifehouse's "Breathing"
He could feel the cool metal on his back, slippery and smooth. A breeze played in the air reminding him of fall, which was on the horizon. Forget about that, this was one of the final days before it turned cold, and the chill of winter would wrap around him.
Not that he cared. He was indifferent to the cold. He took a deep breath and the cold air wafted from his nostrils reminding him of the way his cigarette smoke drifted through the air, like a fiery dragon's. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and looked up to the sky.
He saw the moon like a peace sign through the branches of the hibernating tree. It was round and yellow, a pale reminder of the sun. He squinted, the picture becoming hazy. He heard a car drive by and turned as it drove past. Then he looked back up to the blackness. Small white stars flecked the night sky. They looked so different from when he was a kid. That was almost 130 years ago. A long time.
He thought of what had happened a few months before. How his life had changed. There he was intent with purpose, and then it was wiped away. He had nothing anymore. But he pulled through. He stayed true to promises he made, more than anyone of his species could say.
But he wouldn't give up his toughness. At least on the outside. He had to keep that, because in some ways it kept them together when times got rough. It sure had over the summer.
"Spike?" He turned to the voice and saw a small girl outlined by porch lights. She made her way over to the car. A sweater was wrapped around her. She tucked back her hair and hopped up onto the hood of the car next to him. "What are you doing out here?"
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
"What happened to me in my life." He thought about Drusilla for a moment. He still missed her in some ways. No one could understand him like she could. But she didn't ignite the passion in him that he needed. With her he was just Spike, the cold dead shell.
"You been writing again?" He picked up the pieces of paper that were pinned under his arm and handed them to her.
"Wow. These are good."
"They're horrible." he took them back and ripped them. "They don't matter anyway. No one can capture feelings with words. Even the best poets and painters haven't been able to do it perfectly."
"Do you want to come inside? I swear you're getting to be like Angel. Brooding just isn't your thing."
"I hope I'm not getting to be like peaches." He snorted. "I'd have to stake myself." She laughed. "I'll be inside in a minute. I just want to have a cigarette." He sat up and pulled the pack out of his pocket. He tapped them and pulled one out.
"Well it's getting late. See you inside." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Then she crossed her arms and got off the hood of the car. As she walked up he noticed she was outlined again, just a silhouette, a shadow.
"Spike?" Willow's voice broke his fantasy. Spike turned to Willow. She was standing there with a blanket. "Here. I brought you a blanket."
"Thanks." He took it.
"Spike, she's not coming back. You have to get over it. I saw you talking to yourself again and it isn't healthy."
"She has to Willow. Because the greatest pain has the greatest rewards. I know it." Willow reached to comfort him but he sidestepped her. Spike marched past Willow. She sighed. Then she noticed the ripped up pieces of paper. She picked up a large torn piece of paper. She read through the lines of poetry in Spike's scrawled handwriting.
\\'cause I am hanging on every word you say and even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright, alright with me 'cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing is where I want to be yeah//
*Just how much does he love her?* Willow looked back to the house which stood silent and dark. A light came on upstairs and she saw Spike. He sat leaning against the window. She gathered the rest of the paper and headed back inside.
By: Pandora North Star*
Notes: Story by Me and lyrics from Lifehouse's "Breathing"
He could feel the cool metal on his back, slippery and smooth. A breeze played in the air reminding him of fall, which was on the horizon. Forget about that, this was one of the final days before it turned cold, and the chill of winter would wrap around him.
Not that he cared. He was indifferent to the cold. He took a deep breath and the cold air wafted from his nostrils reminding him of the way his cigarette smoke drifted through the air, like a fiery dragon's. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and looked up to the sky.
He saw the moon like a peace sign through the branches of the hibernating tree. It was round and yellow, a pale reminder of the sun. He squinted, the picture becoming hazy. He heard a car drive by and turned as it drove past. Then he looked back up to the blackness. Small white stars flecked the night sky. They looked so different from when he was a kid. That was almost 130 years ago. A long time.
He thought of what had happened a few months before. How his life had changed. There he was intent with purpose, and then it was wiped away. He had nothing anymore. But he pulled through. He stayed true to promises he made, more than anyone of his species could say.
But he wouldn't give up his toughness. At least on the outside. He had to keep that, because in some ways it kept them together when times got rough. It sure had over the summer.
"Spike?" He turned to the voice and saw a small girl outlined by porch lights. She made her way over to the car. A sweater was wrapped around her. She tucked back her hair and hopped up onto the hood of the car next to him. "What are you doing out here?"
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
"What happened to me in my life." He thought about Drusilla for a moment. He still missed her in some ways. No one could understand him like she could. But she didn't ignite the passion in him that he needed. With her he was just Spike, the cold dead shell.
"You been writing again?" He picked up the pieces of paper that were pinned under his arm and handed them to her.
"Wow. These are good."
"They're horrible." he took them back and ripped them. "They don't matter anyway. No one can capture feelings with words. Even the best poets and painters haven't been able to do it perfectly."
"Do you want to come inside? I swear you're getting to be like Angel. Brooding just isn't your thing."
"I hope I'm not getting to be like peaches." He snorted. "I'd have to stake myself." She laughed. "I'll be inside in a minute. I just want to have a cigarette." He sat up and pulled the pack out of his pocket. He tapped them and pulled one out.
"Well it's getting late. See you inside." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Then she crossed her arms and got off the hood of the car. As she walked up he noticed she was outlined again, just a silhouette, a shadow.
"Spike?" Willow's voice broke his fantasy. Spike turned to Willow. She was standing there with a blanket. "Here. I brought you a blanket."
"Thanks." He took it.
"Spike, she's not coming back. You have to get over it. I saw you talking to yourself again and it isn't healthy."
"She has to Willow. Because the greatest pain has the greatest rewards. I know it." Willow reached to comfort him but he sidestepped her. Spike marched past Willow. She sighed. Then she noticed the ripped up pieces of paper. She picked up a large torn piece of paper. She read through the lines of poetry in Spike's scrawled handwriting.
\\'cause I am hanging on every word you say and even if you don't want to speak tonight that's alright, alright with me 'cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing is where I want to be yeah//
*Just how much does he love her?* Willow looked back to the house which stood silent and dark. A light came on upstairs and she saw Spike. He sat leaning against the window. She gathered the rest of the paper and headed back inside.