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Hello, your friendly writer Moonwhisper here. I know I owe everyone out there an apology for making you wait so very very very very long for this. I'm a bad girl. I hope this will appease all. Just one chapter left after this, I think. I really had a hard time ending this fight scene. You have no idea how many times I rewrote this and trashed it in the last year. But I'm finally pleased with it. Thanks to all and remember to review!
He Walks in Shadows—part 2
The second bullet found its mark in Vicious' gut. Disbelief flickered across his sharp features as he doubled over and fell, arm clutching his midsection, blood welling through his fingers.
Spike watched Vicious fall, white hair fluttering around him. It couldn't be over that quickly. It just couldn't. Spike waited for the feeling of satisfaction that he had been so sure would come with Vicious' demise. He didn't have time to ponder long, though, as the men surrounding the church open fired. It wasn't fair! After all he had been through, after all Faye had been through, they should have been able to leave as soon as he took Vicious down!
He fired at the nearest black coat shooting at him, the bullet dropping him mid stride as it ripped through his skull. More men, more gunshots, he would kill them all if he had to.
Faye stood dumbly on the edge of reality, a paltry witness to the slaughter in front of her. Her pain numbed senses barely registered the superficial wound oozing warm down her neck. Déjà vu. The word floated to the front of her mind, repeating as she watched the macabre ballet lit in pastel moonlight. Faceless black suits drifted to the harmony of gunfire and death cries; some falling gracefully like leaves, others soaring with the impact of bullets, blood spurting from their bodies in triumphant bursts. And Spike danced untouched among them.
Spike was right, this is all a dream, nothing more, she thought as she witnessed her history repeat itself. Faye looked down, almost expecting to find herself clothed in a black satin dress and opera gloves. Her feet shuffled slightly, enough for her toes to nudge the head of her dead guard. She stared unaffected by the corpse at her feet. His blonde hair turned dark as black blood seeped through the strands, pooling around his head in a halo of gore. Broken moonlight glinted on metal; his gun was still clenched tightly between his stiff fingers.
"Just a dream…" she whispered as she knelt down to pry the weapon from the dead man's hand. Can you die if you're dreaming, she wondered, cradling the gun in her lap.
"Faye!"
Someone was yelling her name.
"FAYE!"
She looked up.
"Faye! Behind you!" It was Spike screaming.
Spike. He was there. To save her. Of course he was there, it was her nightmare. Pain ripped through her shoulder, hot and searing as the bullet tore muscle and bone alike, cruelly jolting back to reality. The impact threw her face first to the floor, her lips splitting as they crashed into the frozen tiles.
"FAYE!!!" Spike cried again as his own bullet took down the gunman.
Dank wisps of black hair stuck like spider silk on her bloodied lips as she pushed her face from the tiled floor. Fire burned in the wake of the metal that had left a gushing tunnel in her flesh. The gun was still clutched in her right hand, which she used to push herself up onto her knees, then stood slowly. Blood seeped through her tank top, deepening the color of the already red fabric.
"Shit!" she swore, taking in the situation at hand. It was Spike against the world. Henchmen in black coats were dropping with every round he fired, while he managed to dance across the floor, dodging random bullets with deadly grace. He flew between shadows and shafts of light like a phantom, flashing bared teeth, his face turned down in lines of hate as he rushed toward her. As he got closer she could see something else, something that she never would have believed if she hadn't witnessed it. Underneath that mercenary mask was fear. It shone in his eyes, cold and desperate.
Suddenly nothing mattered anymore—just him. She had to get to him.
"Spike!" Faye yelled, running toward him. Every step was torture on her abused limbs, but she ran down the aisle anyway.
Spike closed the short distance between them, but stopped short as she pointed her gun straight at his head and fired.
"What the hell, Faye!" he cried, turning as the bullet hissed past his ear. A large man behind him fell backwards, blood spurting from his chest.
He stared at her, then at the body, and back at her again.
"You could have blown my head off!"
"Yeah, well I didn't!" she retorted, grabbing his elbow and pulling him into a pew. "Besides, how many times have you done that to me, huh?"
He mumbled something incoherent.
Faye peeked over the top of the bench.
"How many?" Spike asked as he loaded a new clip.
"Four," she said as she fired a couple rounds. "Make that three."
She ducked back down next to him.
"Is that all?" he said, flashing a crooked grin at her.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her up with him. In a matter of seconds three more men were corpses on the church floor.
Faye sagged against him, blood loss and fatigue finally catching up with her as the adrenaline wore off.
"Are you ok?" Spike asked, sweeping his hands and eyes over her body in a quick assessment of her injuries. "That shoulder wound looks pretty nasty,"
"I'll be fine," she winced as she tried to stand without his support, suddenly remembering she was supposed to be pissed at him.
Faye scanned the room, surveying the destruction. Bodies littered the blood slicked floor; some hung over the pews. It looked as though they had won, but something was bothering her.
"Spike, where is Vicious?"
"He's dead. His body is right over…there…," he said, pointing to the bare gray floor and a trail of blood that disappeared in the shadows.
"Guess again, Spike." Vicious' voice rang out from the darkness, filling the immense room.
The air shrank around their bodies, and the shadows settled just a little lower on their shoulders. Spike pulled Faye protectively against his side, his eyes sweeping the wood paneled walls and carved pews, then resting momentarily on the elaborate crucifix that hung between two stained glass depictions of the Atonement of Christ. He chanced a look down at the woman he held. Her face was bruised, her body bloody and weak. If she didn't get medical treatment soon she would die. She lifted her chin to look up at him. For all her womanliness, her frightened eyes looked like those of a small child. And for the second time that week he prayed:
"Our Father which art in heaven," he began in a whisper, gently pushing Faye to the ground behind a bench. She gave a small grunt of protest, but stopped when she saw his face. His brow was furrowed in thought, his lips pressed into a thin line. He had to do this, and she wouldn't stop him.
"Hallowed be thy Name," He reloaded his Jericho, the chamber settling with a metallic click.
"Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done…" his voice stronger now, he stepped carefully into the moonlit aisle. "… in earth as it is in heaven."
"Praying are we?" Vicious laughed.
Spike turned toward the menacing sound, still chanting.
"Give us this day our daily bread," he recited fervently. "And forgive us our trespasses…"
"Forgiveness, Spike? Do you really believe God has and ear for you?" he mocked as he freed his katana.
"… as we forgive them that trespass against us." Spike entreated, his voice low and sure. The flash of steel caught his eye as Vicious leapt from atop the pipe organ. His sword was only partially raised and his other hand clutched the angry wound in his stomach.
"Pray if you must, but know that you will receive no such forgiveness from me!" Vicious yelled, his cry full of anger and sorrow.
"And lead us not into temptation. " Spike marched stoically toward the other man, his face reflecting the grief of the other. He stopped just a few strides from the man he once called friend.
"But deliver us from evil." Vicious finished for him and rushed at him, his eyes feral, and katana ready to drink Spikes blood.
Spike raised his gun, his eyes meeting those of his enemy for the last time.
"Amen," he murmured.
And a single shot rang into the night.
Time slowed as Spike watched the bullet enter Vicious' skull, his gray eyes wide with shock. Arms spread and head bent backward, hair descending to the floor in a silver rain. He fell forever in that second, his black cloak fluttering in a breath of air. Time resumed its normal pace as Vicious' body finally landed with a thud that reverberated through the massive cathedral. The sword fell from his grasp at last and hit the stone with a dull clank.
Spike sank to his knees with his gun still clutched tightly in his hand. He raised his bowed head to look at the husk of human life that lay before him. And for a brief moment he allowed himself to grieve Vicious' soul. Then he remembered all the pain and suffering he had inflicted on others and felt vindicated in his actions. The man Vicious died as was not his friend. He was Satan on a mortal plane. He would not weep for him.
Faye crawled from where Spike had hidden her. She was too weak to walk, almost too weak to stay awake. It was over. She had watched with satisfaction when Spike blew that hole through Vicious' head. The selfish part of her wished she had been able to kill him herself. But it didn't matter anymore. The deed was done.
She pulled her knees under her body in an attempt to stand up as she approached him from behind. A shaft of moonlight fell across his slumped shoulders and gave his unruly dark hair a grayish cast. She pushed herself next to him, breathing hard from the strain.
Spike turned to look at her, not smiling, not frowning. She looked away from him and at the body that lay in front of them. She grabbed the fallen katana in her right hand.
Faye placed her left hand on Spike's arm and spoke in a whisper, "Help me stand up."
"You shouldn't be moving around so much," he chastised her.
"Help me up," she repeated louder, glaring at him.
He started to protest again but was silenced by the look in her eyes. He understood. He had his peace, now she needed hers. He stood slowly pulling her up with him. The edge of the blade scraped on the tiles, a screechy sound that made their teeth clench. Faye wavered on her feet for a moment.
"Let me go."
He released her immediately.
Faye staggered the final step between her and the man that had been the source of so much pain. The tip of the sword dragged behind her. She paused to look at his face. Even in death he looked malevolent. Blood ran in rivulets from the hole in his forehead, pooling in the corners of his wide, glassy eyes. The red tears flowed down his cheeks into the silver hair fanned around him. His lips were almost white and frozen in his malicious sneer, mocking her still in death.
Her eyes narrowed and closed as she pressed her lips together and summoned the last vestiges of strength her body possessed. She raised his katana high over his heart and plunged downward, her body weight driving the blade home through bone and flesh with a sickening crunch.
"Rot in Hell, you bastard," she spat as her knees buckled and she slid down the sword. Spike pulled Faye into his lap before she landed on the bleeding corpse. She thought she couldn't cry anymore, but she did. Only this time she wept tears of relief as Spike cradled her in his arms and cried with her.