Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were though. But then, who doesn't?
Pairing: S/B
Spoilers: Up to the beginning of season 6.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Not much happening here. More of a mood piece. Very short too. Just read.
Lines
by Eve
Sometimes he could still smell her.
This unique mixture of smells she was made up of - her soap, shampoo, the fabric softener she used and something which even his heightened vampire sense could only describe as simply 'her'.
She would invade his senses just like she did when she was still real. No preliminaries, no warning, no knocking on the door. Bang and there she was - and he was drowning in a sea of memories and emotions.
Bits and pieces of moments and conversations with her floated around him like little glittering fishes. Too fast for him to grasp but so bright and shining and inviting, tempting him to lose himself into them that he couldn't help but glance at them in wonder.
But then suddenly, like the sea changes with the tide, wave after wave of sorrow and regret washed over him and pushed him time and again under the waterline until he finally gave up struggling and sank down into its blackened depths.
That's when he acknowledged them for what they were - memories.
The real thing was gone.
Then his chest tightened and hurt so much that he believed he would have choked if he was still alive.
~~*~~
"Look, Spike, I-I know that it's hard. It's hard for every single one of us. But it's not like we've got any other choice."
"But the bloody bot? Can't even stand to look at that thing. What about the Nibblet?"
"It's because of Dawny we have to do it in the first place. They're g-going to take her away from us without it."
"No, we can't have that. She's been through enough already. Okay, what do I have to do?"
"Just lift it and take it up the stairs into the living-room. Willow's already gathering the tools and stuff to mend whatever's broken."
~~*~~
He closed his eyes and took a deep unneeded breath in order to clear his head.
He wouldn't fall apart. Couldn't.
Not yet.
Not while he still had work to, still a promise to keep.
So he simply went on.
~~*~~
"Could you stay with Dawn again this weekend? Tara and I wanted to do some more research at the Magic Box. We could use another good spell or two."
"Sure, Red. Little Bit won't be too happy 'bout it though. Thinks she's too old for a baby-sitter."
"But you'll do it? Great, thanks."
"Yeah, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't."
~~*~~
He picked up a black pencil and walked over to the wall of his crypt.
It was bathed in shadows but he was still able see enough to watch the pencil leave a fresh black horizontal line behind as it slowly crossed a small cluster of four vertical lines.
He took a step back and looked at the wall and the collection of carefully drawn lines in front of him. Row after row after row.
He didn't have to count them. He knew the number by heart. 145.
Another day over.
Another day he managed to keep his promise to protect her sister from harm, even though his own world had actually ended 145 days ago.
He glanced a last time at the lines on the wall before he lay down on his bed.
Sleep came over him almost unbidden, bringing with it mocking dreams in which he saved her life over and over again, a relentless reminder of that one night 145 days ago.
Of that one time he had failed her, the only time that counted and that would haunt him forever.
Pairing: S/B
Spoilers: Up to the beginning of season 6.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Not much happening here. More of a mood piece. Very short too. Just read.
Lines
by Eve
Sometimes he could still smell her.
This unique mixture of smells she was made up of - her soap, shampoo, the fabric softener she used and something which even his heightened vampire sense could only describe as simply 'her'.
She would invade his senses just like she did when she was still real. No preliminaries, no warning, no knocking on the door. Bang and there she was - and he was drowning in a sea of memories and emotions.
Bits and pieces of moments and conversations with her floated around him like little glittering fishes. Too fast for him to grasp but so bright and shining and inviting, tempting him to lose himself into them that he couldn't help but glance at them in wonder.
But then suddenly, like the sea changes with the tide, wave after wave of sorrow and regret washed over him and pushed him time and again under the waterline until he finally gave up struggling and sank down into its blackened depths.
That's when he acknowledged them for what they were - memories.
The real thing was gone.
Then his chest tightened and hurt so much that he believed he would have choked if he was still alive.
~~*~~
"Look, Spike, I-I know that it's hard. It's hard for every single one of us. But it's not like we've got any other choice."
"But the bloody bot? Can't even stand to look at that thing. What about the Nibblet?"
"It's because of Dawny we have to do it in the first place. They're g-going to take her away from us without it."
"No, we can't have that. She's been through enough already. Okay, what do I have to do?"
"Just lift it and take it up the stairs into the living-room. Willow's already gathering the tools and stuff to mend whatever's broken."
~~*~~
He closed his eyes and took a deep unneeded breath in order to clear his head.
He wouldn't fall apart. Couldn't.
Not yet.
Not while he still had work to, still a promise to keep.
So he simply went on.
~~*~~
"Could you stay with Dawn again this weekend? Tara and I wanted to do some more research at the Magic Box. We could use another good spell or two."
"Sure, Red. Little Bit won't be too happy 'bout it though. Thinks she's too old for a baby-sitter."
"But you'll do it? Great, thanks."
"Yeah, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't."
~~*~~
He picked up a black pencil and walked over to the wall of his crypt.
It was bathed in shadows but he was still able see enough to watch the pencil leave a fresh black horizontal line behind as it slowly crossed a small cluster of four vertical lines.
He took a step back and looked at the wall and the collection of carefully drawn lines in front of him. Row after row after row.
He didn't have to count them. He knew the number by heart. 145.
Another day over.
Another day he managed to keep his promise to protect her sister from harm, even though his own world had actually ended 145 days ago.
He glanced a last time at the lines on the wall before he lay down on his bed.
Sleep came over him almost unbidden, bringing with it mocking dreams in which he saved her life over and over again, a relentless reminder of that one night 145 days ago.
Of that one time he had failed her, the only time that counted and that would haunt him forever.
