Pen to Paper (1/5)
By Ayt Gimm
aytgimm@aol.com
Summary: When Buffy avoids, Spike writes
Spoilers: Takes place after Wrecked, but does not spoil anything in this
chapter.
Archive anywhere, just don't edit, include my email, and let me know :)
Rating: G Maybe PG?

     She had been avoiding him for weeks.  She figured he would eventually
just come to her house, she never imagined this. It came in an off-white
envelope, through the regular post.  It looked like a wedding invitation;
crisp cotton parchment paper with beautiful rolling script.  She thought
maybe it was from Anya and Xander.  She should have know it was him; the
writing had the subtle suggestion of another time, and a raw edge.  It was
completely him.  She didn't even want to imagine what would send her in the
mail, but she suspected it was pornographic. She stuck it under her shirt and
snuck it up to her room to read.

Slayer,
    Buffy.  For me there is no happy ending. Ever. This is my happy ending.
This love I feel, it won't be returned. I know, I know, it's wrong.  All I
live for is borrowed warmth from my moments with you.. Which I would not need
if I actually lived, but I think you get what I am saying here.  Love you. 
Love you. You're going to die. I might as well love a terminal cancer
patient; the years you have ahead of you are nothing compared to mine.  You
could die five years from now, or fifty, and it's nothing. No matter how long
I have you, it's not anywhere near enough. I'll live through the pain of
losing you no matter when or how it comes.
   Really, maybe that's too dramatic.  This beast that loves you can turn to
dust, my demon condemned to hell before you are gone. We both know where you
will go, and I can never touch you again.  You are lost to me no matter.  I
look at you and I see so much loss, and emptiness.  There is plenty of pain
there, but I love you so much. I know what it is to drown too.  You didn't
take me seriously when I said that, did you?  I wasn't saying those words
lightly. Maybe the whole chains and death threats was a bad idea, or wrong,
but I am new at this.  Really new. This Vampire never didn't get the girl. 
Maybe a human in this body, so long ago didn't, but I'm not much of him
anymore.  I remember what it was like, but you're different.  There's
something there; a chance.
    You once told me I don't know what love is, really, how dare you? A
century of love I thought I'd never get over, and the pain of the love that
got me over it.  I'm willing to give up any dreams of "happily ever after"
doesn't that get me some credit?  You aren't the only one making sacrifices,
but I know I'm willing to make them just to taste your heart. No, I don't
mean that in the Grrr way.
     What can you ask me to give up that I haven't already?  I will say yes
to anything just to really feel you.  I will give you everything.  I love
you. What can I do to make you love me?  It's going to hurt, but I want it so
bad.  Need it. I don't have anything to offer but my love, and one other
thing, and you will never accept that.  That gift would change you.  Maybe
change you so much I wouldn't love what you might become.  I would offer my
gift, but I wouldn't want to risk that. You'd probably kill me for the offer
anyway. You make me crazy.
   A hundred years from now I will still be grieving your loss, I'll lose
you. Every second, every glance reeks of loss. You. Gone. Pain.  I lost you
before, I know how it will feel, but it will be worse because you are so
close.  You make up more of me, you have occupied more space in all that is
me.  I can feel it now; for me this will never end.  I just want to say I
touched your soul briefly: no matter where I am in a century, or a million
years, all I want is that solace. I know there is a chance; sometimes I see
it behind your eyes.  We can have something.  We can have something special
to mark the Earth and let the world know we were alive once after we're both
gone.  I know, it's melodrama, but I was a poet.  Besides, it's true.
   Maybe you and Angel were bloody Romeo and Juliet. Maybe you are
Star-crossed, bound by destiny and fate to touch briefly, scar, love and
lose.  Maybe he was just afraid to feel what I feel right now, loving you and
knowing that loss is so inevitable.  Mentioned Angel, mood breaker.  If
you're still reading this and haven't ripped it to pieces and come to stake
me here is my point: We're something worse. I love you so much, and we have
something.  We have heat, desire, lust, like, and we could have love.  I'm in
love with you, and we could be in love with each other.  If you could take
just a little of the flame inside of me you would be consumed.  It burns so
hot.  You're giving it up, passing it by.  My love = your garbage.  It goes
without saying; I will never leave you, always love you, never need you to
change, or want more or less of you.  I wouldn't write this if I knew you
would never, or could never feel the same.  You can, let it happen.

He didn't sign it.  Like it needed a signature.  She folded it and put it
back in the envelope. She wondered if the way he made her body feel was worth
the hassle. She couldn't deny the letter got to her.  Touching him got to
her, looking him in the eye and seeing his heart on his sleeve got to her.
Maybe he was right, maybe she could love him, but she didn't want to. She
wanted to fight it with everything in her, and she hated how hard he was
making it.  She put the letter between her mattress and boxspring and flopped
on the bed. She was not the letter writing type, at all, especially with
Spike. But there was something about the interplay, about the cerebration
behind the words, about the ability to edit and proofread her thoughts before
he saw them that appealed to her. She owed Spike a letter.