Like Dying a Little
EPILOGUE:
"I think he's coming to," he heard a voice say.
Lorne frowned and squinted and fought a headache so bad it seemed to want to eat him whole. He squirmed and tried to open his eyes only to find that the light hurt.
"Lorne, can you hear us?"
Was that Fred? Yeah he thought it was. He squinted against the light and tried to see around him but it was nothing but blinding brightness and vague shadows. "Y-yes....who....Fred? Is that you?"
"Yes!" He felt her hand grab his and squeeze it in delight. Slowly, very slowly the shadows started to take shape and the brightness became less unbearable. "You've been unconscious for a couple of days. You'd been infected by some strange infection on their claws. Do you remember what happened?"
"I-I....." He tried to think back. Spike had vanished into the portal. They were at the door. The barricades held for about 47 seconds and those were the longest of his life.
Then it had given way. The doors splintered and they had crawled in. Snarling and drooling and only barely visible. It was like they didn't reflect light so much as absorb it. He had wished he'd been able to make a last stand. He wasn't much of a fighter, but even he preferred to die on his feet to lying on a couch waiting to be massacred. Then they had been on him. He remembers the smell, their hands and claws reaching, grabbing, clawing.....then what?
He vaguely remembered expecting a slash that would rip out his throat and decapitating him, but it didn't come. He remembers slipping into unconsciousness and the weight of them on him suddenly lessening.
"We got their just in time, bro." Gunn, that was Gunn. He could almost tell by his shape too. "Yeah, I-I suppose you did. So it worked? The barriers were lifted? Everything okay? No hell portals going to eat us up?"
"Not this time anyway." A less familiar voice. A young woman. A sweet voice with a slightly nervous laugh in it at her own joke. He'd heard it before. That sorceress friend of Buffy. "Willow, right?" he said. He could make out someone nodding. And the faintest trace of red in there.
"We've been worried for these past few days, but it looks like you pulled through." Angel, that baritone he would recognize anywhere. "Yeah, but....my eyes. I can't see very well. Am I going to be okay here?"
"You should," Fred said. "With rest, a couple of days and three doses of G'nwath a day."
"G'n-what? Oh don't tell me; some horrible cure made of demonic poop or something?"
"Uhm, demonic bile actually.....but only for a few days."
Lorne sighed. "Ugh.....well, beats becoming blind as a bat I suppose."
"Well, just rest and get better. Hopefully you can fill in the blanks for us on what happened on your end........" Angel hesitated, like he wasn't sure how to continue. Lorne smiled. "Are you trying to ask me what happened to Spike?" Fred answered before Angel could. "So he was with you? We weren't sure and after it was all over we couldn't find him anywhere. Lorne, what happened?"
Lorne drew breath to speak and he noticed that someone else was in the room. Someone who hadn't spoken yet. He could only make out a vague shape and some light yellow coloring where the light hit her head.
"Spike saved us," he simply said.
Later that day Wesley visited. He'd been busy checking the building was safe now. Lorne tried to brief him best he could on what happened to the amulet. Throughout the day, Harmony brought flower arrangements that celebrities had sent him, along with big 'Get well' cards. He said he wished he could see them (especially the large stuffed doll that looked like him and upon closer inspection appeared to have been made from some unidentified being's skin) and he asked her if she knew what happened to his clothes. She showed him they were in a cupboard in his room. It was not all that badly torn and she knew how much he loved his suits. He smiled.
Later when he was alone he got out of bed, with some difficulty, felt his way to the cupboard and got his clothes. He felt in his pocket and removed the letter. Then the stumbled back to his bed and waited.
A little later he heard light footsteps and saw a faint movement near the light of the door. A soft voice asked: "Uhm....are you awake?"
He nodded. "Come in," he said. "I've been waiting for you."
"You have..?" Her voice was uncertain. "I-I just...."
Lorne shook his head. "No, let's not get into that little dance. I already went a few rounds with him. You won't know what to say anyway. I don't even think there's a label yet for the bond between you two, pumpkin."
She softly sat down on the bed. "....no, I don't think there is. Look, I...I've heard the official report. We don't really know what happened, I get that. It's just.....I only recently learned he was still alive and now....I don't know, I..." She paused for a second. "We shared so much.....both bad and good.....well, mostly bad to be honest, but at the end, we.........we had some...........he loved me. Things were messed up, either him or me or both of us or circumstances or everything....but he loved me. He got his soul back for me. And he died to save the world........and we never.......we just never got to.......I'm not saying that if he was here we'd be having a Gone with the Wind moment now, we were never really like that...........or I wasn't..........but.........he was.......in the end we had..........I-I.........we should have..........I wanted to talk about it..........us, our feelings..............we needed to.....I mean, before the fight.....I tried to but......we were both so......."
Her voice trailed off. Lorne had listened quietly. He had a feeling she was going to do the little dance anyway. But now he reached out to her vague shape in front of him and touched her shoulder gently. "He wanted me to give this to you..." he said as he held up the envelope.
She looked at it and took it slowly. Lorne then worked his way out of bed. She got up to help him, but he gently waved her off. "No, no, don't worry. This invalid can find the toilet down the hall by himself. He learned it today. Not without some mistakes in the beginning, but they managed to clean that office quite well, or so I hear.....I'll just be in the little showbiz-demon's room. You just.....take your time." With that he walked out the door, feeling the walls that would lead him on his way, leaving her alone in the room.
She looked at the envelope, slowly opened it and took out the letter.
"Hello luv,
Looks like I'm off to the great unknown again. Hope it's not one of those places with pitchforks or something. Sorry I didn't get to say hi, or at least see you again. But then that was pretty much always us: bad timing.
But I don't want to dwell on that, and neither should you. We've spend far too much time lingering in bad times and being each other's victims. Neither of us asked for it, just how it went. Can't change the past with all the guilt in the world.
But I'm not bitter anymore, luv. Still wish things were different, can't help that, but I'm not bitter about it. Because I know two things: One, that no one has ever hurt me as much as you have in my entire life. Two, that you were worth every bit of it.
What little of you I had, what little moments we shared in those final days that were real, they were worth it. Don't dwell on the bad stuff. Life's too short. Be happy. Live to the fullest, take care of your own, and try to have as few regrets as possible. It's all we can do.
Goodbye, luv. Thank you for the love I felt.
Yours, always,
Spike"
For a moment she didn't understand why the word 'always' suddenly looked different. Then she saw it had been smudged by a tear that had fallen on the paper. She covered her hand with her mouth briefly as if she'd just damaged an important heirloom. Kind of hastily she tried to dry it with a corner of her sleeve but she only succeeded in smudging it a little more.
Seeing that she stopped and covered her eyes with her hand and stifled some quiet sobs. She didn't know why she cried. For the reformed enemy, the suitor, the comrade in arms? The former lover? The slightly awkward friend?
The missed opportunity?
She didn't know, and she wondered if she ever would. All she knew now was that she could remember everything about him in this moment. His eyes, his hair, the sound of his voice and the touch of his hands. She remembered his arms holding her in the night, her fingers gently caressing his skin. And she cried.
She wiped her eyes and looked at the letter again. There was another line at the bottom:
"PS: There was no oil involved, but I did clean the poofter's clock a few months ago. Just thought I'd mention it."
Reading that, it made her laugh in spite of herself.
Then it made her cry a little harder.
. . . .
The End.
AN: Okay before everyone starts sharpening their knives, I just wanted to write a story in which Spike is able to get over Buffy and move on. It doesn't mean he doesn't love her or even that they couldn't get together later. (I was planning a sequel to this.) I just was tired of stories that either rewrote the actual canon, or wallowed in Spike being depressed. I wanted him to be able to face things and move on. And to be able to appreciate loving her and what it did for him even if he loses her.
Fortunately, on 'Angel' Joss has done pretty much that. Spike is his own man now, maybe for the first time in his life. Not fighting for his mother, Cecily, Drusilla or Buffy, but because he believes in a cause. He has purpose. Like I said, I'm sure he still loves Buffy, and I certainly wouldn't mind her coming back to profess undying love, but I wanted Spike to alright even if that doesn't happen. Something like that.
That's what this story was born from, as well as the notion that I heard in Cohen's song that you can lose a love and look at it, and then still appreciate the fact you were lucky enough to have it even briefly. Not something I'd be good at, but it's a lovely thought, and a rare one in stories. And as said, it was a X-mas present for my wife. Never meant to post it until she told me to, heh.
Thanks to the kind reviews, and I hope people aren't mad. I'm still thinking of a sequel but what's happened on Angel now may change the course of what I was doing with that.
EPILOGUE:
"I think he's coming to," he heard a voice say.
Lorne frowned and squinted and fought a headache so bad it seemed to want to eat him whole. He squirmed and tried to open his eyes only to find that the light hurt.
"Lorne, can you hear us?"
Was that Fred? Yeah he thought it was. He squinted against the light and tried to see around him but it was nothing but blinding brightness and vague shadows. "Y-yes....who....Fred? Is that you?"
"Yes!" He felt her hand grab his and squeeze it in delight. Slowly, very slowly the shadows started to take shape and the brightness became less unbearable. "You've been unconscious for a couple of days. You'd been infected by some strange infection on their claws. Do you remember what happened?"
"I-I....." He tried to think back. Spike had vanished into the portal. They were at the door. The barricades held for about 47 seconds and those were the longest of his life.
Then it had given way. The doors splintered and they had crawled in. Snarling and drooling and only barely visible. It was like they didn't reflect light so much as absorb it. He had wished he'd been able to make a last stand. He wasn't much of a fighter, but even he preferred to die on his feet to lying on a couch waiting to be massacred. Then they had been on him. He remembers the smell, their hands and claws reaching, grabbing, clawing.....then what?
He vaguely remembered expecting a slash that would rip out his throat and decapitating him, but it didn't come. He remembers slipping into unconsciousness and the weight of them on him suddenly lessening.
"We got their just in time, bro." Gunn, that was Gunn. He could almost tell by his shape too. "Yeah, I-I suppose you did. So it worked? The barriers were lifted? Everything okay? No hell portals going to eat us up?"
"Not this time anyway." A less familiar voice. A young woman. A sweet voice with a slightly nervous laugh in it at her own joke. He'd heard it before. That sorceress friend of Buffy. "Willow, right?" he said. He could make out someone nodding. And the faintest trace of red in there.
"We've been worried for these past few days, but it looks like you pulled through." Angel, that baritone he would recognize anywhere. "Yeah, but....my eyes. I can't see very well. Am I going to be okay here?"
"You should," Fred said. "With rest, a couple of days and three doses of G'nwath a day."
"G'n-what? Oh don't tell me; some horrible cure made of demonic poop or something?"
"Uhm, demonic bile actually.....but only for a few days."
Lorne sighed. "Ugh.....well, beats becoming blind as a bat I suppose."
"Well, just rest and get better. Hopefully you can fill in the blanks for us on what happened on your end........" Angel hesitated, like he wasn't sure how to continue. Lorne smiled. "Are you trying to ask me what happened to Spike?" Fred answered before Angel could. "So he was with you? We weren't sure and after it was all over we couldn't find him anywhere. Lorne, what happened?"
Lorne drew breath to speak and he noticed that someone else was in the room. Someone who hadn't spoken yet. He could only make out a vague shape and some light yellow coloring where the light hit her head.
"Spike saved us," he simply said.
Later that day Wesley visited. He'd been busy checking the building was safe now. Lorne tried to brief him best he could on what happened to the amulet. Throughout the day, Harmony brought flower arrangements that celebrities had sent him, along with big 'Get well' cards. He said he wished he could see them (especially the large stuffed doll that looked like him and upon closer inspection appeared to have been made from some unidentified being's skin) and he asked her if she knew what happened to his clothes. She showed him they were in a cupboard in his room. It was not all that badly torn and she knew how much he loved his suits. He smiled.
Later when he was alone he got out of bed, with some difficulty, felt his way to the cupboard and got his clothes. He felt in his pocket and removed the letter. Then the stumbled back to his bed and waited.
A little later he heard light footsteps and saw a faint movement near the light of the door. A soft voice asked: "Uhm....are you awake?"
He nodded. "Come in," he said. "I've been waiting for you."
"You have..?" Her voice was uncertain. "I-I just...."
Lorne shook his head. "No, let's not get into that little dance. I already went a few rounds with him. You won't know what to say anyway. I don't even think there's a label yet for the bond between you two, pumpkin."
She softly sat down on the bed. "....no, I don't think there is. Look, I...I've heard the official report. We don't really know what happened, I get that. It's just.....I only recently learned he was still alive and now....I don't know, I..." She paused for a second. "We shared so much.....both bad and good.....well, mostly bad to be honest, but at the end, we.........we had some...........he loved me. Things were messed up, either him or me or both of us or circumstances or everything....but he loved me. He got his soul back for me. And he died to save the world........and we never.......we just never got to.......I'm not saying that if he was here we'd be having a Gone with the Wind moment now, we were never really like that...........or I wasn't..........but.........he was.......in the end we had..........I-I.........we should have..........I wanted to talk about it..........us, our feelings..............we needed to.....I mean, before the fight.....I tried to but......we were both so......."
Her voice trailed off. Lorne had listened quietly. He had a feeling she was going to do the little dance anyway. But now he reached out to her vague shape in front of him and touched her shoulder gently. "He wanted me to give this to you..." he said as he held up the envelope.
She looked at it and took it slowly. Lorne then worked his way out of bed. She got up to help him, but he gently waved her off. "No, no, don't worry. This invalid can find the toilet down the hall by himself. He learned it today. Not without some mistakes in the beginning, but they managed to clean that office quite well, or so I hear.....I'll just be in the little showbiz-demon's room. You just.....take your time." With that he walked out the door, feeling the walls that would lead him on his way, leaving her alone in the room.
She looked at the envelope, slowly opened it and took out the letter.
"Hello luv,
Looks like I'm off to the great unknown again. Hope it's not one of those places with pitchforks or something. Sorry I didn't get to say hi, or at least see you again. But then that was pretty much always us: bad timing.
But I don't want to dwell on that, and neither should you. We've spend far too much time lingering in bad times and being each other's victims. Neither of us asked for it, just how it went. Can't change the past with all the guilt in the world.
But I'm not bitter anymore, luv. Still wish things were different, can't help that, but I'm not bitter about it. Because I know two things: One, that no one has ever hurt me as much as you have in my entire life. Two, that you were worth every bit of it.
What little of you I had, what little moments we shared in those final days that were real, they were worth it. Don't dwell on the bad stuff. Life's too short. Be happy. Live to the fullest, take care of your own, and try to have as few regrets as possible. It's all we can do.
Goodbye, luv. Thank you for the love I felt.
Yours, always,
Spike"
For a moment she didn't understand why the word 'always' suddenly looked different. Then she saw it had been smudged by a tear that had fallen on the paper. She covered her hand with her mouth briefly as if she'd just damaged an important heirloom. Kind of hastily she tried to dry it with a corner of her sleeve but she only succeeded in smudging it a little more.
Seeing that she stopped and covered her eyes with her hand and stifled some quiet sobs. She didn't know why she cried. For the reformed enemy, the suitor, the comrade in arms? The former lover? The slightly awkward friend?
The missed opportunity?
She didn't know, and she wondered if she ever would. All she knew now was that she could remember everything about him in this moment. His eyes, his hair, the sound of his voice and the touch of his hands. She remembered his arms holding her in the night, her fingers gently caressing his skin. And she cried.
She wiped her eyes and looked at the letter again. There was another line at the bottom:
"PS: There was no oil involved, but I did clean the poofter's clock a few months ago. Just thought I'd mention it."
Reading that, it made her laugh in spite of herself.
Then it made her cry a little harder.
. . . .
The End.
AN: Okay before everyone starts sharpening their knives, I just wanted to write a story in which Spike is able to get over Buffy and move on. It doesn't mean he doesn't love her or even that they couldn't get together later. (I was planning a sequel to this.) I just was tired of stories that either rewrote the actual canon, or wallowed in Spike being depressed. I wanted him to be able to face things and move on. And to be able to appreciate loving her and what it did for him even if he loses her.
Fortunately, on 'Angel' Joss has done pretty much that. Spike is his own man now, maybe for the first time in his life. Not fighting for his mother, Cecily, Drusilla or Buffy, but because he believes in a cause. He has purpose. Like I said, I'm sure he still loves Buffy, and I certainly wouldn't mind her coming back to profess undying love, but I wanted Spike to alright even if that doesn't happen. Something like that.
That's what this story was born from, as well as the notion that I heard in Cohen's song that you can lose a love and look at it, and then still appreciate the fact you were lucky enough to have it even briefly. Not something I'd be good at, but it's a lovely thought, and a rare one in stories. And as said, it was a X-mas present for my wife. Never meant to post it until she told me to, heh.
Thanks to the kind reviews, and I hope people aren't mad. I'm still thinking of a sequel but what's happened on Angel now may change the course of what I was doing with that.