Title: Deathwish
Author: Caitlin
Email: Caitlin@teenagewildlife.com
Disclaimer: Yeah you know the deal. As for season latest after last ep, take it though that joyce died.

If death comes for me tonight, girl
I want you to know that I loved you
And no matter how tough I would appear
Only to you I would reveal my tears
See, tell the police I ain't home tonight
Messing around with you is gonna get me life
But when i look into your eyes
Man, you're worth that sacrifice

If this is the kinda love that my mom used to warn me about,
Man, I'm in trouble, I'm in real big trouble
If this is the kinda love that the old folks used to warn me about
Man I'm in trouble, I'm in real big trouble

Someone please call 911 (pick up the phone girl)
Tell them I just got shot down
And the bullet's in my heart
And it's piercing through my soul (I'm losin blood yall)
Feel my body getting cold (so cold, so cold)
Someone please call 911 (pick up the phone yall)
The alleged assailant, is five foot one
And she shot me through my soul
Feel my body getting cold (so cold)

Sometimes I feel like I'm a prisoner
I think I'm trapped here for a while
And every breath I fight to take
It's as hard as these four walls I wanna break,
I told the cops you wasn't here tonight
Messing around with me is gonna get you life,
But everytime I look into your eyes
Man it's worth the sacrifice

If this is the kind of love that your mom used to warn you about,
Mary you're in trouble (I'm in real big trouble)
You're in real big trouble (Lord knows I'm in trouble)

Wyclef Jean and Mary J. Blige. 911

(Hey I rediscovered R n' B, don't worry I'm usually a rock chick, just in a stangely emotional mood as this fic'll prove.)

It was fitting that it should rain. It was fitting that the heavens would open and fall on them all, pounding relentlessly on the stone ground. And it was fitting that the sky was grey. Dark storm clouds bled together in the gloom and out of the mist and out of the stark blackness he stepped. No one could have more focus then a tortured soul, and giving into the pain inside of him he held his head high, like a vampire should hold his head.

And that's what he was, a vampire, and that was why this had to end.

A million images flitted in his head as the growing storm cackled thunder cracks in his ear. Some were real, some were figments of his own imagination. Some were of her dancing, moving sinuously to thudding music under a sparing light, and he imagined her moving like that under him, her body arching into his. Some were of him being slammed into a hard brick wall, hitting her, placing his fist in that perfect face and he imagined fighting her for the last time, imagined that final whimper.

He smirked, the blood lust as strong, as unforgiving as the flicker of lightning across the bland horizon, singnaling that somewhere something had gotten burnt.

He clutched the pistol tighter in his hand, knuckles going a crimson red in the grip. Sheer determination in his eyes as he stormed towards her house. A prison that he was bound to constantly, knowing that she was there. He had spent too much time watching her through her bedroom window. Then finally giving in and standing in the shadows of the room. Watching the slight rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelashes. Knowing that he could never hold her. She had lived too long, and that was why this had to end, before it turned into something it wasn't. Messing around like this was going to be his downfall. He wasn't about to let that happen.

And a little chip wasn't going to get in the way of his freedom.

She wasn't going to get in the way of his freedom. She wasn't going to torture him and intoxicate him so mercilessly, and then tell him that he was beneath her, ignoring the fact that the game had changed. Ignoring the fact that she was and always would be death's whore. Yeah that was why Captain Cardboard couldn't satisfy her, he was too damn normal, too damn alive. And as much as she tried, with her friends, her family, she wasn't meant to love anything but death.

And goddamn him if he wasn't death himself. And death was coming for her tonight.

The raindrops slipped down his leather jacket, soaked through his shirt so that it stuck to his pale taught muscles. It fell on his face and he darted out his tongue to taste the cool liquid and Spike didn't know why, but he shuddered.

This was the kind of love his mother used to warn him about. This was the kind of love which had swallowed him and spat him out too many bloody times, for his liking. But none of those times hurt as much, made his body tremble and his fists shake as much as this.

Yeah he was in trouble. Real big trouble.

The streets were empty, well it was one a.m, what had he expected? A great big crowd to celebrate his victory? Nuh uh, this wasn't how it was meant to be. He raked a hand through his dripping peroxide hair and snarled at the images in his head again. Her smiling, lauging, pouting. Looking so damn innocent, good enough to eat and with that thought his grip on the gun faltered. And for a second he stopped and stood in the middle of the street opposite her house, the lights on low inside. And for some reason he was dismayed to see the lights on, that meant someone was home. His uncertainty was cruelly broken by a large clap of thunder and he jumped, the noise still reverberating in his head. He swallowed hard before stalking across the deserted street to the back of her "Happy" home. This was what she had reduced him to. Damn her.

But it still wasn't right. It was still too bloody quiet, not the heroic death she should have. She should have come out and found him by now, that was how they played it. No matter if it was a heroic death or not, he would kill her. He stumbled in the dark walking under a towering oak to where he could smell her. God knows what she was doing on her backporch in this weather. He'd imagined killing her when she slept soundly in her bed. Exposed and innocent, like an angel. No matter, as long as she was out of his head, out of this world he didn't care. As long as she was safely buried under a ton of dirt nothing mattered.

And there he found her. The alleged assailant. Slumped over her porch. Eyes staring lifelessly up into the grey sky, blonde hair damp and dull flowing around her face, and a small almost unnoticeable trickle of crimson liquid trailed from the corner of her shapely mouth.

He dropped his game face.

And he dropped the gun.

He could smell the scent of death from here, clinging to her small petite form encassing her in it's never relenting embrace. The rain still didn't give up now, her skin was soaked, dull in the erethral grey gloom above. Drops of water held like gems in her dark eyelashes, precariously trembling on her fine cheeks before cascading down the soft skin there.

For a second he couldn't move, he should be elated but instead it was panic that engulfed him and tugged at his heart. Shot through his soul again.

And then he ran, leaving the gun to sink into the muddy ground below his feet. The sick feeling of dread lulled in the pit of his stomach when he reached her and gathered her limp body up in his arms, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

His lips pursed and he shook his head frantically. Because, yeah he was in trouble. Loving your worst enemy was always going to be big trouble, it was gonna get him killed. But when he looked into her beautiful cool eyes, groping at death this very instant. When he held her body in his arms he knew why it was worth the sacrifice. And why this wasn't how she was meant to die. This wasn't a hero's death. The Slayer was a hero. But even heroes had their problems; a dead mother, the fate of the world on your shoulders, deserted by your boyfriend, and God knows what else.

Either she died by his hands or not at all.

"Suicide you stupid bint!" He shouted, "You bloody coward." Accusations filled with disgust and betrayal rang out into the night. He shook the lifeless body in his arms, then hugged it even tighter. Blood tears that he coughed up with strangled sobs merged with the rain that ran down in his face and fell onto her body. He felt her body getting cold, but he wasn't a doctor, there could still be hope.

A few seconds later an emergency call was made to Sunnydale ambulance services. No name was left, just an address and frantic demands to go save a girl who'd overdosed there. The operator was threatened several times with what happened if they didn't get "their asses there this bloody moment." Ramming stakes up their backsides was another of the threats.

And shortly after the receiver was replaced a dark figure stole away from a phonebox, clad only in a thin red shirt which dripped with liquid, into the harsh rain and the engulfing night. His black leather jacket was to be found wrapped around the dying form of a young slayer, clinging to life on her backporch. Because hell, he'd much rather dance with her, then on her grave. And maybe now there'd be a chance, now that she'd finally listened to her death wish. Listened to him.


Once in every fanfiction writer's life the suicide fiction must be attempted. This is my futile go. But hey I haven't killed a character in any of my fics yet .... hmmmm ....yet.

Please Read and review, a bit shitty I know but eh *shrugs* Only took me a couple of mins so that justifies it.