Here's to the Nights

Author: Azure K Mello

Disclaimer: Joss, Eve6, not me.

Part: 1/1 or should I go on? I don't know. Tell me? I'm thinking
alternative ending.

Pairing: Angel/Spike

Spoilers: End of Days. Cannon? That's a four letter word.

Warning: Mega Angstage, like coming out the ears.

Thanks Poison.

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             Spike sat with hunched shoulders. The tears streamed down his face as he wrote the letter. It was the last he would ever write so he didn't mind the fact that it was ten pages long. It didn't matter in the end. Everything he'd thought was so important was now only childish and asinine in his eyes. All he'd ever wanted was his sire. He could kid himself, fool himself into believing he wanted Dru or Buffy. But in the end it always came back to Angel. In the end he could no more lie to himself than he could tell Angel the genuineness of his emotions. All he wanted was to be home in those arms.

So denied so I lied are you the now or never kind
In a day and a day love I'm gonna be gone for good again
Are you willing to be had are you cool with just tonight
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well

            In his own way he hated Angel. He pretended that this was all he felt for the man. It hurt too badly to be honest. For truth be told he resented, and loathed, and loved the man all at once. Often he would act as if Angel weren't his sire. Buffy had liked to believe that Angelus was the monster that wore her lover's face. That was bullshit. Angel was no more a man, no less of a monster, than Angelus. The only difference between his sire's two personalities was that Angel felt guilt. That didn't make him a good man, and it certainly didn't change the fact that he was still Spike's sire. Spike knew it hurt the older vampire to look at him: to see the monster he had created. He knew this; he knew that his sire wanted nothing to do with him. But knowing that the man hated him didn't change how Spike felt. He reveled in the memories of being his sire's favorite childe. Nights filled with blood, and anger, and heat tempered only with the gentle yet all consuming love between them.

Here's to the nights we felt alive
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry
Here's to goodbye
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon

            As Spike sat and stared at the letter he felt something in him break. He signed the letter with shaking hands. "Forever your childe, William". He cried in earnest then no longer worried about finishing the note. His soul, he had gotten it to prove himself to Buffy, or so he had thought. Truly he had gotten it for Angel but he would not admit it, not even to himself. For why would he burden himself so wretchedly for a man who liked to believe he didn't exist? For the man who he'd seen only hours before kissing that girl. Buffy. It always came back to that bitch didn't it? He raised
the bottle to his lips. The whisky was cheap and burned but any sensation was better than feeling so dead inside. The thought was odd to him, for he had been dead for over a hundred years. But never until recently had he felt this dead.

Put your name on the line along with place and time
Wanna stay not to go I wanna ditch the logical
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well

              He looked around the crypt, with salty tear filled eyes. After getting his soul he hadn't been back here. But no demon had moved in, his bed was still made and not slept in. He remembered when he had gotten that bed in Venice. Vampires never had possessions it made them too human; it made it difficult to move all the time. But he had kept the bed, had it shipped everywhere he went. There were too many nights spent in that bed that he wasn't ready, able, or willing to forget. He wrapped his arms around himself as he wept, wishing that he could make himself forget. Move on. Not stuck here without his sire, alone. But he wouldn't be here for much longer.

Here's to the nights we felt alive
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry
Here's to goodbye
Tomorrow's gone I've come too soon

           Pacing, he tried to remember if there was anything he needed to do before sunrise. Could he squander the hours by laying in his own memories? Could he be back in France? Remembering the feasting and the river, the dancing and the girls: so happy they left the boys to their own devices for weeks on end. Lapland; the hunting, the witches, visiting Father Christmas, and going to all the festivals draped in lavish furs they had killed the owners of. The times Angelus had beaten him to within an inch of his unlife, for ruining a plan. He would lay there nearly dust and he would feel Angelus stop in his assault and sigh as he slipped down to the floor next to his childe. Taking him into his arms Angelus would assure the boy that while he was an "idiot childe" his sire loved him nonetheless, that William was the favorite, and that his sire would make him strong again. For days they would lay in bed cocooned and away from the rest of the world. Angelus would feed him childe his own blood and talk in hushed tones of pervious nights and future adventures. And then the ponce went and got a sodding soul. Weeping as the images assaulted him, Spike wondered if the dark vampire would find the letter. Would he read it? Would he care? Why should he? He never had before.

All my time is froze in motion
Can't I stay an hour or two or more
Don't let me let you go
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well

             Spike wandered drunkenly into the cemetery. The sky was red and everything smelt of dew. Sighing he sat at the foot of Joyce's headstone. He ran his fingers though his curls and laughed. "Goodbye cold fucking world. Excuse the French Joyce, but I hold no compation for this world anymore. It's dead for me. Do you realize that in only moments I will see the first sunrise I've seen in well over a hundred years? And I can't think of anyone I'd rather see it with. I loved the sunrise in life. I used to get up to see it everyday and write bad poetry on the subject. That's the one thing I hated when I was turned. I wasn't allowed to see it anymore. I'd been damn and was denied the pleasure."

Here's to the nights we felt alive
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry
Here's to goodbye
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon

             The morning sun warmed his face as he turned to fire and ash. He was too drunk to feel anything but relief. Angel drove into the cemetery and lunged at the door of the crypt while hidden under a blanket. Buffy had told him that perhaps his childe was here when they hadn't found him at the Summers' house. The coldness of the room scared him, his childe had been here recently but his presence was not there, he was gone. Angel couldn't feel him. That's when he saw the envelope addressed to Liam. That when he vomited. Slowly, with shaking hands he opened the envelope and read his childe's final thoughts. Ten pages of memories, and wishes, and dreams, and confessions.

             The room was filled with the acidic and stale smell of vomit and grief. His childe was dead.  "I know you don't love me, and while that hurts, it's my problem not yours. Please don't blame yourself, because if you do I'll feel even more awful then I already do. I saw you and her tonight, in that crypt. And all it did was reconfirm what I already knew. I love you and I always will. Forever your childe, William." He howled his grief. Buffy had kissed him; he'd pushed her off and stated yet again that it would never work. She had pouted and demanded why and Angel had been so angry at this point that he had screamed. "Because the only person I've ever truly loved was, is, my William." Angrily she screamed that she and Spike were together. Angel had just laughed, the little girl didn't understand that wherever she and Spike had shared had been transient. And he was right he and Will were forever, he just hadn't realized how short forever could be. The sunlight had never felt so cleansing and pure to Angel as it did that day.

The End

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