think i'm going for a walk now
i feel a little unsteady
i don't want nobody to follow me
'cept maybe you
i could make you happy you know
if you weren't already
i could do a lot of things
and i do.
He slammed out of the dingy detective agency. . .down the front steps. And into the DeSoto. His white knuckles clenched around the steering wheel. But he couldn't start the engine. Couldn't muster the strength to fish his keys out of his pocket and fumble for the right one. . .and then match it to the ignition.
Her words were still there. Hanging in the air he couldn't breathe. "Angel. . .Angel, I miss you. I-it's not the same without you," she'd whispered all gentian-eyed and trembly. So fucking lovely in that dump his sire called an office. And softer. . .softer, she'd said, "God, this has been so hard. . ."
Damn. Damn blasted Hell. Why had he agreed to drive her to L.A.? Masochism? He knew the Great Poof was what she wanted to see. Even if she'd trumped up some excuse about picking up a file from Doyle and Cordy about some new breed of gremlin. That's what fax machines were for.
He banged his forehead against the cool, plastic lined metal, not caring that the horn sneezed and sputtered and echoed across the alley every time he made contact. "I've gone soft," he choked out. "In the head." And the heart.
He was in love with the one woman he could never have.
tell you the truth i prefer
the worst of you
too bad you had to have a better half
she's not really my type
but i think you two are forever
and i hate to say it but
you're perfect together.
He'd left. Flown out of the building like the Devil was on his heels the minute her back was turned. It figured. Her eyes automatically filled with wetness and she looked up at Angel, beseeching.
"See," she whispered. "See, he can't even bear to be around me. I'm horrible. . .worse than horrible. . .I'm the uber-yuck!" She sank down on the battered, funky smelling couch. "I'm not Drusilla," she added quietly.
"Buffy. . ." Her former one true love shook his head, the reality check in his voice reminding her why he'd also been one of her best friends. "You can't be certain that he still loves her. They're not together now, and he did drive you here."
She dragged the sleeve of her leather jacket across her eyes, scrubbing at the tears as she sniffled. "H-he's just trying to rack up good karma. So he can get out of Whistler's community service clause quicker and go back to her." She smiled sadly. "Willow thinks I'm crazy, you know. For falling heavy for another vampire. Especially since he's of the un-souled variety. But hey. . . like I always say. . ."
"Love makes you do the whacky," Angel finished, dropping to his knees beside her. His eyes were so dark. . .like his childe's. But different. Where Angel's eyes were warmth and full-disclosure, Spike's were stormy. . . and had more secrets than all of Giles' Hellmouthy books combined. "Buffy. . . Spike and Drusilla don't have to be with each other. Just because they had love, doesn't mean its the best thing for him. You could make him happy."
"Like us." She cocked her head. . .chuckling at the irony. "We had love, but it wasn't the best thing. . ." She sighed, thinking of the dark-haired secretary-actress who had once been the most popular girl at Sunnydale High. "Does Cordy make you happy, Angel?"
He ducked his head. . .and whatever animal's blood had fed him made his cheeks redden. "Yeah," he murmured, still a little uncomfortable discussing it with her. "Delia and I. . .we. . ." And suddenly he looked up at her, his newfound happiness like a light in his eyes. "Go after Spike. Go after him and find what we have."
Her legs were frozen with indecision. But, once again, Angel was the one to act. The one to clinch it. He went to one of the desks. . .piled high with papers and tissues and old pizza boxes. Dug around in a drawer and tossed silvery, jangling keys into her lap.
"Take Doyle's Corvette. . .its parked out back. And make sure you check every bar in between here and Sunnydale. He probably doesn't have that much of a head start."
"Th-thanks," she gasped out as the energy flooded her limbs and she rose. "Thanks for the advice."
"I knew you missed it," he said, grinning and waving her towards the back door. "Now, go, Buff'."
Hopefully she wouldn't miss anything else.
so fuck you
and your untouchable face
and fuck you
for existing in the first place
and who am i
that i should be vying for your touch
and who am i
i bet you can't even tell me that much
Black paint and blood tears hampered his driving. Not that he cared. Not like a crash was going to kill him. "Fuck," he hissed. "Fuck." Who the Hell did he think he was. . .? Romeo? Casting himself in some bloody Shakespearean tragedy. Slayers and vampires in love. Ha.
It was rot. All rot. Hadn't he learned that much by watching Peaches? Evidently not.
His gut was twisting. Full of acid. Moral indigestion. It was going to kill him. Eat a hole clear through. He wasn't going to make it back to Sunnyhell. He was going to die right there. . .quietly expire in the middle of the Mojave desert.
A neon sign caught his eye. He yanked the wheel a hard left and fishtailed in the center of the highway. "Fun 'n' Fries?"
He guided the car into the near-empty parking lot. His stomach was all ready a wreck so the fries were no good. But he could use the fun. And all the liquor the place could offer.
two-thirty in the morning
Her eyes were drifting, spacing out. She needed sleep. . .but needed him more.
and my gas tank will be empty soon
She glanced down at the needle. Half a tank. Would hopefully be enough to get her to three more bars before Spike sought the shadows.
neon sign on the horizon
rubbing elbows with the moon
"Billy Bob's Fun 'n' Fries"? It sounded like a cheesy fast food joint, but she could tell that they offered a different kind of fun than the whole G-rated-family therapy-thon. "Spike would have better taste than this. . ."
a safe haven of sleepless
where the deep fryer's always on
She glanced into the parking lot, and immediately locked on to Spike's black DeSoto. "Well, I guess beggars can't be choosers." She did a quick left turn and pulled the cherry-red Corvette convertible snugly into the space beside it.
She wrinkled her nose as she stepped out of the car, feeling the grease coat her skin before she even crossed the threshold. Something was being fried to within an inch of it's life. "Hello Surgeon General. . .cholesterol kills." She saw a familiar shape slumped on a stool. "Unless you're already dead."
radio is counting down
the top 20 country songs
and out on the porch the fly strip is
waving like a flag in the wind
Twang, twang. . .lost love. . .broken heart. . .runaway dog. . .twang, twang. God. How could Mr. Sex Pistols stand it?? "Well. . .if you're under the table, I guess you can't hear a thing."
She made her way around some scattered tables, trying not to wince as her $200 boots stuck to the floor. The things she put up with for love! She had half a mind to go back and chew out Angel for his "Dear Abby" routine. And then she saw his face. His cheek was against the bar. . .translucent skin almost glowing in the low light.
He looked like a little kid. Exhausted. Fast asleep. Utterly beautiful and innocent. Two things few people would associate with William the Bloody, avid neckbiter, punk rocker, and Manchester United fan. He wasn't himself. He was almost human right now. But she loved both the monster and the man. She moved closer to him to tell him how much. She took away the bottle of Wild Turkey near his hand and replaced it with herself. "Spike. . ?"
y'know, i don't look forward
to seeing you again soon
He grunted. "What the bloody. . . ?" He opened an eye and the room took a swift turn to the left. He squeezed it shut again. He thought he'd heard her. Here, of all places! In Billy-Bob's Beer 'n'. . .More Beer. . .in the middle of East Butt-Fuck! His eyes rotated inside their lids. Now was not the time to lose his mind completely. Or maybe it was. Maybe, if he did, Dru would come back. . .and he could forget her. He reached for the bottle, but it wasn't there anymore. Instead he felt something warm. Her skin. . .smooth . . . creamy. . . tasty. . .vanilla pudding.
"Spike. . ." His head snapped up. . .and then back down, reconnecting with the bar. Hard. "Formica. . .go figure," he winced and muttered. He slowly opened the other eye and clenched his teeth. "You? Here? Why?"
you'll look like a photograph of yourself
taken from far far away
She gave a very un-ladylike snort. "I always knew you were a stunning conversationalist." She swallowed. She had to say it. "Why is it that you're always looking for therapy in a bottle? Betty Ford much?" And that was not it. Where the Hell was this coming from? Couldn't she have a nice simple profession of love with out channeling her inner bitch?
and i won't know what to do
He closed his eyes again. Why was he being tortured? Aside from his nasty karma from harvesting people. He grumbled. "Piss off." He tilted his head away from her. . .trying to escape her presence. And the little imps tap-dancing on his frontal lobe. Shit-poor liquor was even worse than shit-poor--warmed-over bags o' blood.
and i won't know what to say
She was losing him. When he was like this, nothing made impact except more drinks. And maybe a fuck or a fight. She'd seen it happen before. The last two times Dru had left him. But if she didn't tell him now, it was never going to happen. As it was, her "resolve face" was fading fast along with her spine.
This was love. And he had to know. For better or worse.
"Spike, I've been giving this a lot of thought. . .and I know you might not like this. . .but. . ."
except. . .
Oh, what was she rambling about now? Who knew?
"Blah blah blah. . .misgivings. . .friendship. . .blah blah blah."
"Shut up." He rubbed at his forehead with his left hand, trying to get the jackhammers and her voice to take a coffee break.
"Blah blah blah. . .been so helpful. . .blah blah . . . I worry. . .He. . ."
Oh. He. The love of her life. The Great Cream Poof. "Shut up," he repeated, this time a little stronger. Where was that damned bottle of whiskey?
"Blah blah trust. . .scared. . .blah blah blah. . .needed advice."
So what was he supposed to be? The next Ann fucking Landers? Is that all she wanted? Yeah. . .good old Spike, best girlfriend. Next thing you know, she'd consult him for make-up and hair tips. His fists balled up instinctively. "Shut your yap!"
"But. . .blah blah. . .Spike. . .blah blah. . .Angel. . .true love. . ."
Enough. Even a vampire had a breaking point.
fuck you. . .
The words echoed and filled the bar. He flopped his head down on the cool Formica again. It was suddenly quiet. He snorted. Hunh. . .she'd listened! His brain roughly tapped him on the shoulder. . .and suddenly he was aware of his hand. It throbbed. A lot. His knuckles were swelling.
"Spike. . ." Her choking whisper came from the lower than he'd remembered.
He slowly swung around on the barstool. Where was she? She'd been sitting on the bar. Yammering away about love and trust and Angel. Puke, puke, puke.
"Sp-spike." Again his name.
And his eyes followed the voice. He froze.
i see you and i'm so perplexed
what was i thinking
what will i think of next
where can i hide
She was flopped like a rag doll against the dark, beer-stained linoleum. Limbs akimbo. Hair covering most of her face. Neck twisted at a grotesque angle. Her eyes were open-wide, looking but not really seeing. And her chest was rising and falling so. . .so damn slowly.
He slid to the ground in a heap. "Shit." Crawled to her crumpled body. "No." His fingers fluttered over her pulse, from wrist to chest to base of throat.
He'd broken her.
She was the Slayer. Strongest of her kind. Her death would come in battle. She'd have to be dragged off kicking and screaming. And not by him. His best attacks had never even scratched her. Why now? Why here? He smoothed the hair from her forehead, gently. And then yanked his fingers back. The imprints of those very fingers lay red and purple against her jaw. "Why?"
One gasping breath. "I-I. . .love. . .you." And then she was still.
in the back room there's a lamp
that hangs over the pool table
and when the fan is on it swings
gently side to side
God, the floor was a mess. Too dirty for her. She would be so angry if she couldn't wash this place out of her suede skirt. He had to help her up. Get her to the car. And maybe then they could talk. He would dab club soda on the stains and give her a few Band-Aids and everything would be #1 A-OK.
He swung her up, into his arms, and stood on shaky legs. She felt soft and right. Maybe they would do this again. . .after a night wedding. They could pretend, couldn't they? Giles could stand in for the priest. And Angel could walk her down the aisle. And the bridesmaids could wear the loveliest pink taffeta. Except pink would clash with the witch. Well maybe a green then.
He would have to discuss it with the Slayer when she woke up. In the mean time, Doyle's pretty red car was the perfect place to stare at the stars and wait.
There's a changing constellation
of balls as we are playing
i see orion and say nothing
"See, that one's Orion. . .he's got a big sword, y'know. But mine' s bigger . . .and look, there's Ursa Major and his Minor. . .see, he was a pedophile."
Spike chuckled as he held her head steady. . .she was staring straight up at the sky. Such a good girl, listening to his astronomy lesson. "And you're so lovely, Slayer. . .pale like the moon. Eyes like stars. And your neck. . . your neck."
He stroked the jutting bones with trembling fingers, choking on insanity. "You shouldn't have followed. . .me. . ." He closed his eyes, tucking her face under his chin. "Shh, shh, just have a nap. Everything'll look better in the morning. I promise." He glanced to the east. . . the sky was all ready starting to blush.
"You know, I should probably put some shades on. Maybe sunblock? This'll be my first time out in centuries. Wouldn't want to ruin our complexion now, would we? Where the Devil are my Ray-Bans?" He took her hand, already cooled, and kissed it. "But don't you worry, Love. . .you're already a goldy tan all over. " He leaned over to her ear conspiratorially. "I know. . .I've looked."
His skin was starting to prickle. Spike moved her out from under his chin, looking at her. "You know. . .we shouldn't be running off together. It's wrong. It's sick. It's against everything we stand for in the world. A vampire and a slayer. Day and Night. Good and Evil. And besides, necrophilia is out these days." He stroked her ashen cheek.
A blood tear dripped off his nose and landed on her lower lip, stark against her pale. "I suppose they'll miss us. . .well, you more than me. Your mum, your Watcher, those weird little people you call chums. Even my sire. Bloody-poofy-moony-Daddy o' mine. But that's 'cause they all love you so much. . . and I-I. . .I--"
He growled at her suddenly, face slipping back and forth between demon and human. His body was racked with laughs. Or were they sobs? Either way it was hysteria. "I hate you! I hate what you've done to me!"
His visage was smooth again as he leaned down. Their equally cold mouths brushed. He kissed her. . .like he'd always wanted to. "But I have you. You're mine now." He could feel his temperature rising for the first time in two hundred years. She warmed him like he knew she would. The tingling swept up and down his spine. Hot flashes? He burned for her? Of course. "I love you."
One more kiss. "And damn me. . . for. . . it. . ."
the only thing i can think of saying
is fuck you. . .
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