Title: She sees me
Author: MAC/Undead Euro-Trash
Feedback: W_U_L_L_F@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: so not mine
Rating: dunno, don't do ratings... R?
Summary: She sees me. And that's all I really wanted, just someone to see me... 3rd in the 'They Cry' series
Spoilers: Everything up to some point in season 7, somewhere after 'Lessons'
Uniform's too big. Thought it would fit and everything would be put to rights, she always said that the clothes make the man. But I got the uniform, almost died for it, I wear it, and it hangs off. What kind of man am I? Oh, right, m'not a man, am a thing, just a thing... nothing. Forgot. Sometimes I forget, and things bleed together.
Everything bleeds. Little girls, time, paint, colours, even ink.
I bleed.
Am now; it's red, and it tastes like death on my tongue. But I shouldn't bleed, know that, I fucking *know* it; like a dog who knows not to chew shoes. So I try to clean it up, wash up the mess, but it smears and stains my lips. Don't wanna get into trouble. The inks still wet, and I'm left out in the rain. The words wash away, they slide off the paper in little forking rivers; but the blood doesn't. Mess, I've made a mess.
The blood coats everything, just like it always has, and I cry. I cry 'cause the mess is what I am, it's what I was made for, I wanna die. I slit my wrists, then I remember I'm already dead. I remember that I *am* death. I remember 'cause I'm a lunatic and I fucking forgot.
I look up and my mess makes the light tremble so slightly, like a little girl's lips before she gets her first kiss; and it makes the light dim, dim like her expectations when it's nothing but wet. And then it cries. Too many girls and too many tears, can't pick one, can't hear the one scream mingled in with the others. Can't hear! Wrong, all bloody wrong, can't hear! The screams, the tears, I hear tears...
Everything calms for a minute. Tiny hands, ones that should have nothing to do with death. They're warm as they press and wipe; wanting to put the blood back in. They don't understand that I tried that, tried to put it back in, tried so hard. Wanted to be clean, but I'm not, can't cleanse the wicked. I get a hard look and I'm told to be quiet, must've been talking, don't remember talking, but I don't remember a quite many things. So I sit, I sit and let her fuss.
Sometimes things are clear. They're clear and I remember everything. I know who she is. I know where I am. And she smiles so sadly, like she's found and old friend who'd been lost at sea. And then things muck up, and it's foggy and I forget again. I forget and things don't make sense. *I* don't make sense. When that happens, she holds me. She holds me as she becomes a bright green light again.
She glows so bright, like a lighthouse. And I follow the stream of luminescence, trying to get my lost ship to harbour. Trying not to crash on the rocks, wanting to follow her light and see the girl I'd left behind.
Sometimes I see the light so close that I think I can make it to shore. I try to steer my ship towards it, and waves crash on either side of my ship. The salt rains down like tears, stinging my eyes. My poor vessel is battered to and fro, and I see the monster rise out of the water. Lightening clashes and I know my fate is sealed. Still I fight with the wheel, trying to turn the ship about, trying to change my course; but it never works.
The serpent strikes, the hull is splintered, and as my ship disappears under the freezing waters, my madness reclaims me. And all I can feel is the loss, the loss and her warm glow on my face.
But my ship is safe in harbour right now, till I have to set off again. I'm on shore leave, but unlike before, I have someone waiting for me. I have a girl to spend money on and time with.
Years in the British Navy should make men out of boys, not quiet poets out of young rascals; but it did. Made me crave beauty where there wasn't any, made me want the finer things where only there were rats and scurvy. She makes me feel like the uniform doesn't hang. She makes me feel like it fits. Like it fits and I look like a fine, respectable officer in it. She doesn't know about the stains and rips that litter it. She doesn't know, and truth be told, she doesn't give a bloody damn.
Would've married this one, and sometimes I forget why I still can't. I forget the reasons, I forget that she's too young and that I'm dead. Her dead poet, the one that mumbles and writes out words once saved for other loves. The one that turned poetry into rivers of blood and let the phrases float away down that river. Poetry that was once only suitable to be described as the Thames, with death and sewage running through it.
I look into her blue eyes, and her eyebrows furrow in confusion. She doesn't know which one I am. Doesn't know if I'm sane or not. I hide a smile; it's the million-dollar question. "Spike?" she asks. I'm not sure how to answer that. I'm me, yeah, not foggy and lost. But things are too bloody clear, like crystal instead of the normal dullness of glass.
"William?" she asks, and I don't want to answer. I don't want to, so I don't. I reach for her, my hands are still red, and the cuts along my wrists are still trying to heal up. I let my fingers lightly touch her cheek. Maybe things being this clear are what are normal now. Been so long since I had a soul, maybe it clears things up a bit.
"Love you," I say, and she looks uncomfortable. Always does when I say it, but she just nods. She always nods, and no matter how many times I say it and mean it, she doesn't believe me. Gets on my sodding nerves. So this time I pull her to me and kiss her. Not a chaste thing, I want the girl to believe me, I want her to understand that my ship's come in.
I can taste my blood smearing as I part her lips, can taste those fruity candies she likes on her tongue. As she molds against me and returns the kiss, I feel the fog moving in. I feel the waves crashing and breaking against the hull.
Lightening screams through the sky, and I hold onto her, like the life-vest I never enjoyed wearing. I continue to kiss her, my tongue probing and moving, like I'm searching for answers, and in a way I am. But I don't know the questions, don't know them and they don't fucking matter. All that matters is the searching, trying to find treasure. The quest is what is important, and I search her secrets. Pulling away to let her breathe, and then I dive back in, my sanity is in her, it only comes out when she's here.
If I look hard enough, I'll find it. Lock it up with her Key. Keep it and retire from the Navy. Retire from the waves and the sea, stay on land and become that poet I hate so much. Marry my sweetheart; buy that house in the country I told her about. But I can't find it; I can't bloody find it. I know it's here, can feel it; just can't bloody see it. Again I move away, she gasps for air. Shouldn't be panicking, but I am. Lots of things I shouldn't do, but I do them anyway. Like giving my sanity to a little girl, losing it for the older one, but giving it to the youngest.
"Take care of me while I'm gone, luv?" I ask in a soft voice. She nods and leans in, kissing me softly. I think she believes that I love her now; she knows how wrong it is, she knows. My Nibblet's always been the smart one, and she understands that things shouldn't be this way. "I love you," I say closing my eyes. Closing them so I don't have to see her sad smile, keeping the heartbreak away, but I shouldnt've closed them.
I'm back on my ship; the wind is cold and the salt water that's raining down burns in my wounds. I begin my struggle with the wheel, trying to keep it steady. I'm not turning away this time. I refuse to bugger any more up by running away. The deck is wet and slippery, my boots slip as I force myself to stand steady. The sails billow and snap as they're beaten by the wind. The masts and rigging creak their protests. Sorry, mates, but we've got a girl to get back to.
I watch the monster slither up out of the churning waters, and I tighten my hands on the wheel. Can feel its eyes on me, just like I could feel her soft sad kiss linger on my lips. I might not've found what I was looking for, but I sure as hell figured something out. "Hey, watch this!" I yell to the serpent over the roar of the waves bashing my ship. "Saw this in a movie once!" And I set my ship on its course, letting the icy winds and my fury take control. I might never see land again. Might never see anything but the lighthouse beckoning me to shore. But at least I've made a choice; no more running. I'm gonna finish this. If I have to live out my life as a stark raving madman, I'm gonna go on *my* bloody terms.
I feel my ship crash into the monster. It lets out a shrill shriek of pain. The wood around me buckles and splinters under the force of our crash. I feel the slivers of wood fly by me, nicking my skin and whistling past my ears. I watch the snake flail around as the pieces of splintered wood puncture its hide. My ship continues to fly apart, and I know that I can't save the old girl. Letting the wheel go, I watch it spin. Water flows over the sides as we start sink; and as the water soaks into my boots, I stand tall. Finally, I've gotten my dignity back.
I was an all right naval officer, a horrible poet, a wonderful demon, a reluctant ally, and I was a sad lover to a hero. But now, now, even as my ship sinks and I go down with it, like any captain should, I find for the first time, for the first time, I feel like a good man.
I've done my duty. I've fought. Win or lose it doesn't matter, like the answers to questions, none of it matters. What matters is the quest, the journey, the fight, the blood spilt for what you really believe in. It doesn't matter what the outcome is. I've done my girl proud. I can still feel her in my arms, and I open my eyes.
She's like a penny, shiny and new, but the salt clings, she turns green like any copper stained by the wet of tears. The mist rolls in, and I bury my face into her hair, not wanting to see the change as it happens. She'll become the light and I'll forget things. At least she believes that I love her, and I've faced my demons. I lost my ship, but I took that dirty bastard down with me.
I might be dead, and I might be insane, but at least I have someone waiting for me to come home. I do, and I love her. She doesn't care that my uniform is in tatters. She doesn't care that I'm weak and bleed rivers of awful poetry. She knows I'm a monster, but most of all, she knows I'm a man. She knows I can love. She knows that I've killed. She's seen me at my worst and she's seen me at my best. She knows all my mistakes and my weaknesses. She knows. She's smart. She looks past all that. She sees me. And that's all I really wanted, just someone to see me.
"Love you," I say, and I feel her hot glow on my skin. "Always love you."
She lets out a little breath, and her fingers dance through my hair. Her words are soft, like music, "I know."
~END~