Disclaimer: Wait for me.
AN: Ever wonder what was on the note Buffy left for Spike during 'Touched'? Here's my take on it. Please review!
Wait for Me
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The dry white paper, black ink scratched across it hastily. He read it four times, then realized he didn't know what it said.
Spike woke up, expecting to find a slayer beside him, and found only black writing on white paper. Only three words. He gave her his heart, body, and soul and all he got was three words.
Wait for me.
That was all it said. Ink splattered across the paper. She had forgotten to dot the 'I'. The vampire sighed: didn't he always wait?
Streetlights, casting their lights in neat circles, only making the shadows more apparent. The slayer sat against a cold brick wall, knees against her chest, hands around her knees. She sat in the shadows and tried to pull her life together.
How was she supposed to save the lives of millions, billions, of others, if she couldn't even handle her own life? How could she do things that would decide the future of so many people, when she didn't even know what she wanted?
She had been so comfortable, in Spike's arms. For the first time, she realized she didn't need the sex to feel better, all she needed was him. Her mind went into overdrive, after years of forcing herself to hate him, things were suddenly changing, and she wasn't prepared for that.
Lying there, she realized just how much she'd hurt him, and just how much she probably still was hurting him. The sudden clarity sent her mind reeling, and she knew she needed to get away to understand herself.
Disappearing seemed so cruel, and so Buffy left a note. Seems simple, right?
Gnawing on the pen, ripping of so many sheets of paper, desperately trying to find what she wanted to say as the feelings shot through her mind and exploded like fireworks: color, sound, light, but with no real meaning or purpose.
I've been wrong, I need you, I want you—wait for me—I don't know what I'd do if you left—things would fall, I would fall—I need you to wait for me—I depend on you more than you know, I think of you more often than anyone would guess, I love you more than I'll admit to myself—please wait—I hate the word love, never ends anywhere good, but maybe after all this chaos is over if you wait for me until evil stops falling out of sky and ground I'll get a little time to find myself and find you and neither of us will have to wait anymore.
Only she couldn't write any of that, it bounced of her skull and echoed in a horrid manner, so all she wrote was the one persistent mantra that kept repeating itself; the smoke, the only evidence that there ever was color, light, sound, and fireworks.
Wait for me.
She dropped it on the bed, and ran: she could only hope he would understand.
Wait for me. Only three words. Hadn't he done enough waiting?
Spike's eyes flashed gold, how long did she expect him to wait? Those amber spheres could dent the walls.
He waited for her to notice he loved her. He waited for her to love him back. Waited for her to like him. Waited for her to recover from this hell of earth. Waited for her to look at him without disgust. Waited for her to look at him. And always, hidden in the back, even though he knew it would never happen, he waited for her to love him.
Spike was done waiting.
He done all he could for her, anything he could to convince her, and now she wanted him to wait. He'd had enough.
Buffy, head in her knees, rocked herself back and forth, pleading wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
Spike, enraged, tore the little piece of white paper into pieces. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
He'll understand.
She doesn't get it.
Wait for me.
Not waiting anymore.
He let the remains of the note fall to the ground, not caring when his heavy, black boot ground the pieces into the carpet.
He'd save the whole bloody world, but he wouldn't save it for her, not anymore.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
AN: Ever wonder what was on the note Buffy left for Spike during 'Touched'? Here's my take on it. Please review!
Wait for Me
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
The dry white paper, black ink scratched across it hastily. He read it four times, then realized he didn't know what it said.
Spike woke up, expecting to find a slayer beside him, and found only black writing on white paper. Only three words. He gave her his heart, body, and soul and all he got was three words.
Wait for me.
That was all it said. Ink splattered across the paper. She had forgotten to dot the 'I'. The vampire sighed: didn't he always wait?
Streetlights, casting their lights in neat circles, only making the shadows more apparent. The slayer sat against a cold brick wall, knees against her chest, hands around her knees. She sat in the shadows and tried to pull her life together.
How was she supposed to save the lives of millions, billions, of others, if she couldn't even handle her own life? How could she do things that would decide the future of so many people, when she didn't even know what she wanted?
She had been so comfortable, in Spike's arms. For the first time, she realized she didn't need the sex to feel better, all she needed was him. Her mind went into overdrive, after years of forcing herself to hate him, things were suddenly changing, and she wasn't prepared for that.
Lying there, she realized just how much she'd hurt him, and just how much she probably still was hurting him. The sudden clarity sent her mind reeling, and she knew she needed to get away to understand herself.
Disappearing seemed so cruel, and so Buffy left a note. Seems simple, right?
Gnawing on the pen, ripping of so many sheets of paper, desperately trying to find what she wanted to say as the feelings shot through her mind and exploded like fireworks: color, sound, light, but with no real meaning or purpose.
I've been wrong, I need you, I want you—wait for me—I don't know what I'd do if you left—things would fall, I would fall—I need you to wait for me—I depend on you more than you know, I think of you more often than anyone would guess, I love you more than I'll admit to myself—please wait—I hate the word love, never ends anywhere good, but maybe after all this chaos is over if you wait for me until evil stops falling out of sky and ground I'll get a little time to find myself and find you and neither of us will have to wait anymore.
Only she couldn't write any of that, it bounced of her skull and echoed in a horrid manner, so all she wrote was the one persistent mantra that kept repeating itself; the smoke, the only evidence that there ever was color, light, sound, and fireworks.
Wait for me.
She dropped it on the bed, and ran: she could only hope he would understand.
Wait for me. Only three words. Hadn't he done enough waiting?
Spike's eyes flashed gold, how long did she expect him to wait? Those amber spheres could dent the walls.
He waited for her to notice he loved her. He waited for her to love him back. Waited for her to like him. Waited for her to recover from this hell of earth. Waited for her to look at him without disgust. Waited for her to look at him. And always, hidden in the back, even though he knew it would never happen, he waited for her to love him.
Spike was done waiting.
He done all he could for her, anything he could to convince her, and now she wanted him to wait. He'd had enough.
Buffy, head in her knees, rocked herself back and forth, pleading wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
Spike, enraged, tore the little piece of white paper into pieces. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
He'll understand.
She doesn't get it.
Wait for me.
Not waiting anymore.
He let the remains of the note fall to the ground, not caring when his heavy, black boot ground the pieces into the carpet.
He'd save the whole bloody world, but he wouldn't save it for her, not anymore.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =