Epilogue

At the back of the dark and empty club, a figure sat all alone, his legs dangling over the edge of the stage and a guitar balanced on his knee. To his right stood a bottle of beer and a cigarette expertly balanced against the side of an ashtray, whilst he scribbled frantically with the pencil on the scraps of paper to his left.

Putting down the writing implement he took another drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out and re-positioning the guitar so he could play. Following notes he'd written on the page next to him, his fingers worked the strings of the instrument until it sung his latest composition for him. The sound echoed around the empty space, his eyes falling shut as he started again from the beginning, feeling the music more than just playing and hearing.

Words started to form in his head, lyrics that wrapped themselves in the cloak of the melody and before he knew it they were spilling from his mouth. He didn't write ballads much, but he fancied that was what he was doing now, despite the fact no words actually made it to the paper by his side. His music always used to be loud enough to wake the dead, sometimes with lyrics coarse enough to make the most open minded of people blush, but then things had changed after he met her.

As his head ran out of words and fingers out of tune, the song ended and he sighed, carefully placing the guitar down beside him on the edge of the stage and pulling himself up onto his feet, grabbing the beer bottle as he went. He used to love this place late at night, all empty and peaceful. It was his sanctuary when he needed it to be. Now it seemed to be missing something, the warmth and comfort it used to bring was gone. There was only one time he ever felt that comfortable now, and though he could bear this place as it was the missing piece had to be there to make it complete.

He wandered across the stage, free hand running along the top of the amp and the edge of the microphone on it's stand. It'd been a good set tonight, playing all the old songs to a packed house, he rarely if ever regretted the decisions he'd made.

Ghosts from the past spoke words he would never forget nor would ever wish to.

"You gonna stand there all day or actually do some work?"

"Actually I thought just standin' here might be fun" Spike answered as if she were really there, almost laughing at himself when he realised his imagination had run riot again.

"You really should do something about that attitude problem" said her voice in the dark then, too clearly to be affectation, "I thought I might find you here" Buffy smiled as she stepped into the light and over to his side.

"Where else would I be?" he smirked, taking her hand in his and planting a tender kiss on her lips.

"How about with your wife and your son?" she smirked back at him, like a female mirror image, "There are still a couple of last minute things need taking care of before tomorrow. Who knew eighteenth birthday parties would be such a headache?"

"It's his party, let him have the headache for a while. He'll cope for a few minutes alone, won't he?" he smiled in suggestive fashion, turning to face his wife and kissing her thoroughly.

"Here? Now?" she asked with a giggle as he ran his hands down her body.

"Don't tell me you don't want me?" he challenged, "I know you can't resist"

He began kissing her neck and shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

"You're so vain" she told him with a grin before gasping with delight, "but I love you, more than you'll ever know"

"Love you too, pet" he promised her, and it was still the sweetest of music to her ears.

The End