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It hurts sometimes more than we can bear.

He felt the pain, even now at the end of things. Funny how that was almost all there was room for. Funny how in these last minutes, it was his wanker of a grandsire whose words came back to him.

Or maybe not so funny, seeing as the bastard was standin’ right next to him. Still, he’d have rather been reliving that time he actually made it to the bed with Buffy, or at the very least the last few minutes he’d had with her.

But no, instead he was thinkin’ about that idiotic quote Angelus had come up with and then liked so much that he’d repeated it over and over for months. And him in a wheelchair, unable to escape the poof’s trite babbling.

He had to admit, it was fitting. Standin’ there, watchin’ the demon horse come straight at him, was almost enough to make him go completely carrot-top. He’d told Buffy once—he liked this world. Hadn’t had any intention of leaving it again, either, till his bloody soul got in the way. Who knew the damn thing came with a conscience?

And the worst part was that even with the conscience, knowing that he was about to leave the world without ever seeing his Buffy again was enough to rip him apart. Hell, just thinking about it was driving him insane.

If we could live without passion, maybe we’d know some kind of peace.

He snorted. That was the problem, right there. Everything in his sorry unlife, from killin’ that Chinese Slayer to going up in flames at the sodding Hellmouth—everything he’d done, he’d done because of passion.

Not to say he regretted doing it, or anything. That Slayer’s blood had been damn good, and if he hadn’t loved Dru so much he was willing to risk getting dusted to find her cure, he’d never have met Buffy. Never would’ve fallen in love with her.

Although, lookin’ at it reasonably, fat lot of good that had done him.

But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank.

No, merry-go-round of pain that it had undeniably been, he couldn’t be sorry for that particular event in his unlife. Even on the days that he cursed it, he was deeply glad to have fallen in love with her. She was his salvation, a ray of sunshine in his dark world. She was the only one with the power to make him go up in flames.

And the only one who could make him, once again, completely bugger up his plans by pulling this saving-the-world stunt with the great poofter at his side.

The poofter who, even as he thought about him, walked up to the demon horde with the most asinine smile on his face and ordered the rest of them to get to work.

Without passion, we’d be truly dead.

And as Angel raised his sword, Spike’s face was gripped with a grin of its own—a fighting grin. He fisted his hands and jumped into the fray.

For better or for worse, this was who he was. This was his passion.

And he’d be damned for a third time if the bloody Powers That Be thought a little tussle like this would keep him from his girl.

This was more than just not fading away—this was burning, shining with passion.

And as he saw his girl suddenly appear, with an army of Slayerettes behind her, his grin turned into a laugh. Buffy was here. With him, for him.

And now, the two of them were going to win.

Forever.

~*~

A/N: Um...yeah. Wrote this while I was waiting for my mom to pick me up. I do a lot of these little one-shot fics, mostly to make the characters happier in my delusional little head. If it sucks, tell me, if you liked it, tell me...this is a shameless ploy for feedback, in case you hadn’t noticed ;)




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