Mother & Son

By Pretty Poppy

Spike was lying on the cot in the basement, quite literally licking his wounds. One of the cuts he had sustained while nearly beating the life out of Wood had reopened, and he was absently sucking the blood from his knuckles.

Spike sighed and pulled his hand away from his mouth. Closing his eyes, he tried desperately to relax. Maybe the trigger had finally been deactivated, but he still had a nasty headache from having that soddin' stone shoved up his brain. He was beginning to wonder if the pain would ever go away.

Hovering somewhere between the worlds of wake and sleep, he felt a presence watching him from the shadows. Spike opened his eyes again and furtively scanned the far corner of the basement. He could make out the faint outline of a figure silhouetted in the darkness.

"Who's there?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice. If it was another one of those bleedin' Potentials he'd rip her head off. Whoever it was. He was in no mood to be trifled with.

The figured swept forward in one graceful movement, the all-too-familiar rush of full skirt and petticoats preceding her.

Spike's eyes widened and he pushed himself up on the cot, afraid of what the apparition meant.

"Mother?" The word was barely a whisper escaping his lips.

"Yes William, it is I." She stepped fully into his view now, her face revealed by the dim moonlight pouring in through one of the high basement windows.

"No." Spike shook his head and sat up further, bringing his legs over the side of the cot and pushing his back up against the concrete wall. "No. You're dead. You've been dead for over a hundred years. I killed you."

"Yes, you did," she said softly, as she moved a step closer. "But that's all in the past now. What's done is done. I know you never meant to do me any harm."

"How . . . how can you say that?" Spike felt a panic rising inside of him. This thing before him could not be his mother. It wasn't possible. There was only one explanation. "You're The First, aren't you?" he said, hard accusation in his voice. "You can't screw with me anymore."

"Language, William," she scolded gently. "I am not The First." Slowly, with a warm, fluid grace, she reached out and caressed his cheek. "If I was, I wouldn't be able to touch you. My sweet, beautiful William."

Spike jerked his head away, easily breaking the contact. "You're just a figment. An apparition. Why have you come to haunt me? Haven't I suffered enough?"

"Yes, you have. But I'm not a figment. I'm a gift." She raised her delicate hand further to touch the top of his bleached blonde head. "One final vision before the effects of the unpleasantness wear off."

Spike narrowed his eyes and stared at her with fear and suspicion. Nothing was ever what it seemed anymore. How could he trust that this really was his mother? Why would she come to see him after all this time?

"I can see you don't believe me," she said, dropping her hand away. "You were always such a trusting soul. I'm sorry to see what the world has done to you."

Spike laughed bitterly. "If you think this is bad, wait till you hear what else has become of me."

"I already know."

She lowered herself to sit down beside him on the cot. Spike could barely feel the bed move.

"You know?" he asked.

"Yes. I've been watching you. For a hundred and twenty-three years now. There's not much more to do in heaven but check in on the living. The one's we've left behind. I've seen everything, been there for everything. And although it was painful, I always understood."

"Right." He finally turned to look at her. "I'm sure it was bloody easy for you to accept. Watching your beloved son slaughter hundreds on innocent people."

She offered him a censorious look at the use of the word "bloody."

"Oh sorry," Spike quickly apologized.

"You couldn't help what you were. There's a demon inside of you that you couldn’t always control. I know you were hurting and you were just trying to find your way. And of course, that's no excuse for committing murder, but it does temper it. You're my son, and I love you. I have always loved you, and will always love you. No matter what you do."

"Including killing you?"

She smiled softly at him. "You did what you thought was right. You were trying to save me from a painful, horrible death. You wanted to give me the world. I know that William. I don't hold it against you. You loved me so much," she said, gently caressing his cheek. "You would have done anything for me. What more could a mother ever ask of her child?"

He closed his eyes and covered her hand with his own, reveling in the surprising warmth of her touch. Finally he pulled her hand away and held it firmly within his own. "The things I've done . . ." he began, tears starting to mist behind his eyes.

"Have all been forgiven. And not just by me. You have your soul back now William. Don't you understand what that means? You sought it out, on your own. You sacrificed, risked everything, to elevate yourself above the base animal that you had become. Being a spiritual being, existing on another plain," she raised her eyes heavenward, indicating where she had been, "you learn things, certain truths about the world and about life. Never before in the history of this universe has a vampire ever sought out his own soul. It's something that such creatures view as a curse. But you wanted it. You knew how important it was, and you sought it out. Don't think that such things go unnoticed. Your sacrifice earned you your forgiveness. And I am so desperately proud of you," she said with a choked sob, tears already glistening in the corners of her eyes.

Spike pulled his hand away nervously. He hated seeing her weep. "Don't cry mother. It's all right."

"I know," she said smiling at him, as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed it at the moisture.

Spike pulled his gaze away from her and stared shamefully down at his hands. "You know, I didn't do it for me. I didn't do it because I wanted forgiveness or salvation."

"No. You did it for her."

He raised his warm blue eyes to her in surprise. "How do you know--?"

"I know everything, dear. When I said that I had been there with you over these past hundred years, I didn't mean just through the bad times. I know what she means to you, and I can't tell you how happy I am that, after all this time, you've finally found someone to fill the void in your life."

"You've seen . . . everything?" he asked, a long-forgotten sense of embarrassment starting to wash over him.

"Yes. From the very first time you bleached your hair," she said, as she reached up to touch his slicked-back tresses for the briefest instant, "to . . . well, just about everything. There are some times when a mother knows her son needs his privacy," she said with an understanding smile. "Besides, they don't really like us watching those types of things up there anyway. The point is William, that I like her. I finally think you've met the right girl for you. Don't let her get away."

"I don't really have much choice."

"You do. I'm not saying that things will be easy, or that I can guarantee you any kind of happiness. Because I can't. I can't predict the future. It's a knowledge I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she loves you. Even if she has yet to admit it fully to herself. She loves you William. Just promise me you won't ever give up on that."

"I . . . I can't believe . . ."

"Well, try. Have faith, my dear, sweet son." She brought her hand up to his head again and lovingly stroked his hair. "You deserve to be happy. And you deserve to be loved. Know that you are loved. And not just by me. Don't ever doubt that." Leaning forward, she brushed a soft kiss against his temple. "I must go now. I've stayed too long already."

"No, no, stay," he said, grabbing onto her hand and squeezing it for support. "You haven't even met her."

"I've met her. I know her. I can see her too." She pulled away from him and stood in front of the cot. "Get some sleep my love. You've been through so much today. Tomorrow will be better. I promise."

"I thought you couldn't predict the future."

"I can't. But I know you. You've learned a lot today, and you won't let those lessons go unheeded." She briefly caressed his cheek one last time. "Spike," she said with a smile. "My dear sweet William. I love you. Now lie down, close your eyes, and get some sleep."

Spike did as he was told. He lay back down on the bed and stared up at his mother, his eyelids already becoming heavy with sleep. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I know."

"I love you. You know that I love you, don't you?"

"Yes, my sweet. I do. And I love you too."

Spike's eyes involuntarily drifted shut. Before he fell into unconsciousness he felt the soft caress of his mother's kiss against his cheek, one last time.

~Fin~