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Asylum ficlet (4/4).
Am running around being a busy person today, but still wanted to post this (feedback makes everything better! *g*). As I might have mentioned this one is angsty (I'm sure the title gives it away partly), but in a very understated way... (my mood icon is pretty much perfect). I hope you like, because this one I'm actually very pleased with. (The others were fun, but... this one I care about.)
Nothing belongs to me, spoilers for Asylum etc. And many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh for the beta. Previous parts here.
30 years later
She sees him by the window of the bar, sitting at a small table staring out over the city. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a spectacular view, the darkness festooned with millions upon millions of bright lights - the city that never sleeps. Much like him, she reckons.
For a moment she hesitates - should she go to him or not? But they used to be friends...
When her shadow falls across the table he takes a moment to stir, then slowly looks up. For a few seconds he looks blank, then frowns a little.
“Beck?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
He looks her over again, from the tall brown boots, up the kneelength skirt and the pretty blouse covered by a denim jacket and finally studies her face intently.
“Well either I’ve had far too much to drink, or you haven’t aged a lick!”
She smiles a little sadly and pulls up a chair. “Fire elementals live for centuries, so...”
“Oh,” he replies, and then looks down, not meeting her eyes. Her heart aches at the sight, and she remembers when she first met him - radiating defiance and pride... Remembers later too; him and Buffy together - the way she’d turn to him and his smile would light up the whole room. He’s so... quiet now.
“I heard about... Buffy. I’m sorry.”
He smiles a little, then finally looks up. “Thank you. Life of Slayer...”
He stops and empties his drink, closing his eyes for a moment. “She had a good life.”
“Spike...” she doesn’t quite know what to say, but she wants to connect somehow. “Where have you been? I mean... it’s been forever since we last met, but even I know that people are looking for you. You shouldn’t - you shouldn’t have been alone. It helps to talk about these things - I thought even you admitted that.”
The smile is back, although it never reaches his eyes. “Sorry pet. There are some things... guilt, pain, screw ups - that the talking can help with. But grief...” his eyes slide past her, out over the city, lost.
“Grief needs loneliness.”
She looks down, nods. They sit in silence for a while before a waiter comes up to them, and Spike gets a refill and offers to buy her something.
As they sip their drinks, she studies him - her first friend, her first crush, her first hero. She’s not sure what she feels now... it’s been so long, and she’s so much older.
They talk a little - mostly she tells him what she knows about the others in their group, where they all are now. For a brief time the bonds of nostalgia tie them together, but as they walk down the street later on she can sense him letting go, their connection unravelling as he stops to say goodbye.
She hesitates for just an instant, but knowing that she has nothing to lose she steps closer, and, before he can speak, puts her arms around him. His lips are cool and soft, and although he doesn’t exactly lean into her he’s not pulling away either.
His kiss is soft... almost a sigh, as gentle and melancholy as the Aimee Mann songs she used to listen to years ago. She never realised that grief had a taste, but she recognises it on his lips, and in spite of herself she deepens the kiss; the feel of dying embers in her throat, her hands.
Then suddenly he’s pulling her closer, holding her with the powerful strength she still remembers. She can feel tears on his cheeks, cold and wet against her slow burning fire.
When he slowly pulls away, she instinctively reaches out and wipes the moisture off his face.
He studies her, head tilted, and this time his smile reaches his eyes.
“Thank you,” he says softly, cupping her face.
She smiles back, then grabs his hand. “Don’t leave. Please. Stay. Stay with me.”
He blinks in confusion, and she steps close to him again, flush against his body. “Just stay with me.”
Her words are almost a whisper.
“Beck...” he’s unsure, and shakes his head. “I couldn’t...”
Leaning her head against his chest she closes her eyes, feels the solidness of him beneath her hands. He’s dead. And yet he’s there. And she needs someone. Someone who won’t...
She swallows. “My husband... died a few years ago. He had cancer...”
The sentence is left hanging. She can feel Spike’s arms wrap around her, and soon there are wet, hot tears burning against her cheeks. She’d always thought death a sudden thing, violent and bright, fire and blood cutting a swath across life. But watching the man she loved fading away before her eyes, slowly destroyed day after day by something utterly beyond her control, had been a torture nothing in her life had prepared her for. These days she tries to remember him the way he was before - the short spiky hair that always prickled her fingers; the cheeky, lopsided smile; the way he’d call her his Highlander woman because she didn’t age...
She had known she’d lose him, but not like that. Not so soon...
Then she can feel Spike’s lips gently brush against her hair.
“I’ll stay.”
Nothing belongs to me, spoilers for Asylum etc. And many thanks to
kathyh for the beta. Previous parts here.She sees him by the window of the bar, sitting at a small table staring out over the city. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a spectacular view, the darkness festooned with millions upon millions of bright lights - the city that never sleeps. Much like him, she reckons.
For a moment she hesitates - should she go to him or not? But they used to be friends...
When her shadow falls across the table he takes a moment to stir, then slowly looks up. For a few seconds he looks blank, then frowns a little.
“Beck?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
He looks her over again, from the tall brown boots, up the kneelength skirt and the pretty blouse covered by a denim jacket and finally studies her face intently.
“Well either I’ve had far too much to drink, or you haven’t aged a lick!”
She smiles a little sadly and pulls up a chair. “Fire elementals live for centuries, so...”
“Oh,” he replies, and then looks down, not meeting her eyes. Her heart aches at the sight, and she remembers when she first met him - radiating defiance and pride... Remembers later too; him and Buffy together - the way she’d turn to him and his smile would light up the whole room. He’s so... quiet now.
“I heard about... Buffy. I’m sorry.”
He smiles a little, then finally looks up. “Thank you. Life of Slayer...”
He stops and empties his drink, closing his eyes for a moment. “She had a good life.”
“Spike...” she doesn’t quite know what to say, but she wants to connect somehow. “Where have you been? I mean... it’s been forever since we last met, but even I know that people are looking for you. You shouldn’t - you shouldn’t have been alone. It helps to talk about these things - I thought even you admitted that.”
The smile is back, although it never reaches his eyes. “Sorry pet. There are some things... guilt, pain, screw ups - that the talking can help with. But grief...” his eyes slide past her, out over the city, lost.
“Grief needs loneliness.”
She looks down, nods. They sit in silence for a while before a waiter comes up to them, and Spike gets a refill and offers to buy her something.
As they sip their drinks, she studies him - her first friend, her first crush, her first hero. She’s not sure what she feels now... it’s been so long, and she’s so much older.
They talk a little - mostly she tells him what she knows about the others in their group, where they all are now. For a brief time the bonds of nostalgia tie them together, but as they walk down the street later on she can sense him letting go, their connection unravelling as he stops to say goodbye.
She hesitates for just an instant, but knowing that she has nothing to lose she steps closer, and, before he can speak, puts her arms around him. His lips are cool and soft, and although he doesn’t exactly lean into her he’s not pulling away either.
His kiss is soft... almost a sigh, as gentle and melancholy as the Aimee Mann songs she used to listen to years ago. She never realised that grief had a taste, but she recognises it on his lips, and in spite of herself she deepens the kiss; the feel of dying embers in her throat, her hands.
Then suddenly he’s pulling her closer, holding her with the powerful strength she still remembers. She can feel tears on his cheeks, cold and wet against her slow burning fire.
When he slowly pulls away, she instinctively reaches out and wipes the moisture off his face.
He studies her, head tilted, and this time his smile reaches his eyes.
“Thank you,” he says softly, cupping her face.
She smiles back, then grabs his hand. “Don’t leave. Please. Stay. Stay with me.”
He blinks in confusion, and she steps close to him again, flush against his body. “Just stay with me.”
Her words are almost a whisper.
“Beck...” he’s unsure, and shakes his head. “I couldn’t...”
Leaning her head against his chest she closes her eyes, feels the solidness of him beneath her hands. He’s dead. And yet he’s there. And she needs someone. Someone who won’t...
She swallows. “My husband... died a few years ago. He had cancer...”
The sentence is left hanging. She can feel Spike’s arms wrap around her, and soon there are wet, hot tears burning against her cheeks. She’d always thought death a sudden thing, violent and bright, fire and blood cutting a swath across life. But watching the man she loved fading away before her eyes, slowly destroyed day after day by something utterly beyond her control, had been a torture nothing in her life had prepared her for. These days she tries to remember him the way he was before - the short spiky hair that always prickled her fingers; the cheeky, lopsided smile; the way he’d call her his Highlander woman because she didn’t age...
She had known she’d lose him, but not like that. Not so soon...
Then she can feel Spike’s lips gently brush against her hair.
“I’ll stay.”
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(Apparently I can't spell either! *facepalm*)