Summary: Spike and Buffy both reflect on each other's absences, Spike end
of Season 5 and Buffy end of Season 6. (I wasn't sure how long Spike had
been a vampire so I made a rough guess.
Spike: When she was gone He wrote, his hand scrawling across the page in his spidery Victorian script. Recording another day, another fight, another inch in the Nibblet's height. He sits on the porch, savoring the glow of the full moon on his page. A number adorns the top, 122, to some not important but to him the number of salvation.
It was 122 years ago that he was sired, saved from every mere mortal's fate and now it is 122 days after he could not save her from that fate. It is the strongest reminder of how he failed miserably, once again. The Big Bad never fails comes creeping out of the recesses of his mind. A sour laugh escapes him.
She haunts his dreams and the Bit knows it. Staying by his side every night. She thinks he doesn't remember, doesn't recall the horrific images that revisit him every night in his dreams. He doesn't want to scare his new charge, he has sworn to protect her and he will. Like he couldn't do for her, like he will never be able to do for her.
He closes his eyes, and saves her. With a tear and a rare sob, his hope extinguished.
Buffy: When he was gone She patrolled, fitting well into her unconscious routine. A stake in one hand and in the other her new treasure. Two vamps down and another swung around at her. After an easy fight she falls back into her thoughts.
A typical night, dancing through her playgrounds. Her escape from the real world, easy enough when it's routine. It ends soon enough but as always she sits on her back porch and waits. She will sit until the sun sends her to bed. She will wait every night.
Tonight is different. Tonight is the 147th night, tonight he will be coming back. She has discarded her stake, her trademark. She prefers his for her back porch vigil. Flicking the silver lighter she notices how low the fuel is getting. He has to come back, she thinks desperately he has to fix the Zippo. Yet the sun peeks sorrowfully out again, sending her to bed. Sending her to live another day and sending her to wait for the 148th night, the unremarkable night. When the hope begins to dim. She has not cried yet.
The sun is up and her face glistens with the tear of lost hope.
Spike: When she was gone He wrote, his hand scrawling across the page in his spidery Victorian script. Recording another day, another fight, another inch in the Nibblet's height. He sits on the porch, savoring the glow of the full moon on his page. A number adorns the top, 122, to some not important but to him the number of salvation.
It was 122 years ago that he was sired, saved from every mere mortal's fate and now it is 122 days after he could not save her from that fate. It is the strongest reminder of how he failed miserably, once again. The Big Bad never fails comes creeping out of the recesses of his mind. A sour laugh escapes him.
She haunts his dreams and the Bit knows it. Staying by his side every night. She thinks he doesn't remember, doesn't recall the horrific images that revisit him every night in his dreams. He doesn't want to scare his new charge, he has sworn to protect her and he will. Like he couldn't do for her, like he will never be able to do for her.
He closes his eyes, and saves her. With a tear and a rare sob, his hope extinguished.
Buffy: When he was gone She patrolled, fitting well into her unconscious routine. A stake in one hand and in the other her new treasure. Two vamps down and another swung around at her. After an easy fight she falls back into her thoughts.
A typical night, dancing through her playgrounds. Her escape from the real world, easy enough when it's routine. It ends soon enough but as always she sits on her back porch and waits. She will sit until the sun sends her to bed. She will wait every night.
Tonight is different. Tonight is the 147th night, tonight he will be coming back. She has discarded her stake, her trademark. She prefers his for her back porch vigil. Flicking the silver lighter she notices how low the fuel is getting. He has to come back, she thinks desperately he has to fix the Zippo. Yet the sun peeks sorrowfully out again, sending her to bed. Sending her to live another day and sending her to wait for the 148th night, the unremarkable night. When the hope begins to dim. She has not cried yet.
The sun is up and her face glistens with the tear of lost hope.