The silence was deafening.
He had barely any life left in him to move. It wasn’t as if his heart was pumping to keep his body from going numb. The room was clean with darkness. The smell of stale blood and burnt cigarettes filled the air like a deadly plague. He moved his head briefly to stare out the window at the pale moon shining in on him. It seemed no matter how dark the sky got; the moon could always shadow it with light. He paid more attention to the moon now that he was alone most of the time. There was rarely anyone to talk to except the guys down at the bar where he spent ninety percent of his time.
He sat restlessly on an old worn out and tattered couch with a bottle of whiskey in his left hand and a cigarette in the other. This is what filled his nights. The moon, the small room he called home and alcohol along with a pack of cigarettes. He smoked more now than he had before, ever before. It was because they were the one constant in his life. He could depend on them to never leave him. He leaned back, tilting his head upward, to stare at the ceiling where small pieces of concrete were located and painted over. The sound of Bob Dylan’s “Love Sick” played next door and he closed his eyes to pay attention to the lyrics even though he was sure by now he knew them all by heart.
It was only seconds later that a loud rapping noise was cast upon the door. He turned his attention to the other side of the room lowering the bottle of whisky and placing the cigarette between his lips, then blowing smoke before he stood up. The knocking became louder as he approached the solid door painted white for comfort. “Who is it?” he asked, his voice signaling that it didn’t really matter. Any contact with anyone was better then none at all. The voice that answered was familiar and once he opened the door half way, he couldn’t help but smile slightly at the green tinted friend that stood in front of him. “Lorne”, he said opening the door all the way, then stepping away from it to let Lorne enter.
“Spike”, the sound of his voice was lukewarm. It held less emotion then Spike had remembered but he imagined it was to be expected after what he had done, what they all had done to save themselves, to be the heroes they never chose to be. “You look how I feel”, Lorne said, his eyes glancing around the room at the worn out couch and the emptiness of the small kitchen, mostly filled with empty bottles of alcohol. Spike sighed then returned to his spot on the couch, the one that had become embedded with his body print. “Nice to see you too,” Spike responded taking a chase of whiskey then another drag of the cigarette. “I’m here on business”. Lorne walked over all the newspapers and postcards that cascaded everywhere. “What can I do for you?” Spike’s tone was insensitive to Lorne’s otherwise serious one.
Lorne breathed in, slightly afraid that what he would have to say would cause an eruption of emotions from Spike, emotions Spike obviously wasn’t ready to deal with or even face. He had been hiding from them in the dark room some might call an apartment. Spike might even call it home but Lorne knew that Spike’s home was across the ocean. It was the place Spike was most scared to go but the only place he wanted to be.
“She’s in trouble.” There was no need for Spike to ask questions or to grasp the fact of whom he was talking about. He spent most of his time trying to forget the woman he loved and forget all the questions he had. Did she know he was alive? Would she care? “How do you know this?” Spike placed the bottle of whiskey back down staring at Lorne. “I read someone who was on their way to Italy and is somehow connected to it”. Spike stood up. “Why didn’t you do something?”
“It wasn’t my place. It isn’t my place anymore” Lorne paused. “That’s why I came here”.
“Can you tell me anything?” Spike’s voice became wild with concern. He made fists of his hands as if to contain the emotions that were about to spill out of him. He couldn’t bear the thought of Buffy being in any sort of trouble. Lorne looked around the room again, though never focusing on anything in particular. He wasn’t even lost in thought, just simply afraid of what the answers were and how Spike would react. He knew Spike was the person who should know. He didn’t know very much about his and Buffy’s history except that it was real history that he could feel it without having ever met Buffy. “It’s big. Something is going on in Italy that is big, maybe end of the world big”. It was the only answer he could give without giving away all the details. Too many details wouldn’t calm Spike’s nerves.
Spike nodded his head again, turning his body towards the window to look at the moon, wondering if she had ever stared at the moon and thought of him. He closed his eyes in an attempt to forget his love for her and remember what he would have to do now because of that love for her. “I’m going to leave you a list of details you’ll need for the trip. My friend has a plane that will get you there safely. It’s vampire safe and will get you back if you need to.” Lorne moved across the room towards Spike handing him a sealed envelope. Spike took it without any further questions or instructions. They didn’t say goodbye since it was uncommon to say goodbye to anyone you had been through any emotional time together. Goodbyes were final and nothing was ever truly final.