Title: Sing Me To My End Of
Days
Author: Buffywatcher
Feedback: Constructive
comments always welcome: [email protected]
Pairing: S/A
Rating: Strong R possibly
some soft NC-17’ishness
Spoilers: Some for Power Play
& Some for rumours about the series finale: Not Fade Away
Warnings: M/M relationship,
possible language, strong visuals and other goodies like that
Disclaimer: Just borrowing them
for a bit of harmless fun. All characters, recognisable likenesses are retained
by their owner and accredited license holders.
Writer’s Notes: This story takes place in an AU setting. Please excuse any minor
discrepancies or artist license. As always thanks are going out to GF, MarieC,
Luba, and Mera my most excellent group of Beta/Editors.
Writer’s Credits: This fic will feature the songs, ‘When you come back down’ by Nickel
Creek and ‘Worlds on Fire’ by Sarah McLachlan. There is a Wav and MP3
respectively available by email and/or link; if you’re interested in hearing it
just drop me a line at my email address above. The bad bit of poetry towards
the end there you can blame on me lol.
Distribution: If I’ve already been
given permission to archive my work please consider it yours if you want it. If
I haven’t and you would like to archive it please do, all I ask is that you
email me and tell me where it’s going so I can visit.
Summary: On the eve of what
could be a final battle, Angel learns a valuable lesson from Spike.
*This little interlude is told mainly from Angel’s
POV*
He watches as Connor leaves the coffee shop,
walks slowly out of sight and he sighs. Such a brief respite to mark what may
well be the end of his days. He wonders what the others have chosen to do for
their ‘last great hooray’ as Spike so succinctly phrased it in his own
inimitable fashion.
His hand is in his pocket, pulling out
something that looks vaguely like the Gameboy Spike is so fond of playing with;
he taps in several keystrokes and waits. After a few moments the screen begins
to glow as thin tracings of light flash across the screen, thickening and
overlapping until a very accurate aerial view of the city is formed. A few
seconds after the map appears, lighted points of varied colours begin to appear
one by one on the screen. He isn’t surprised to see that some of the lights are
together; that is what he’d expected to see and he is equally unsurprised that
some are alone. He’s not proud of having the Wolfram & Hart tech department
secretly arrange to have trackers placed on the people he wanted to keep track
of, but his plan is a dangerous one. If there’s going to be any chance of it
succeeding, than he needs these people to make it happen. He knows it’s
unlikely that any of them are going to survive the battle that is coming. He
has to wonder if the ennui that seems to have bound all of them isn’t just one
more ploy by the Senior Partners to keep them down. Only one of them seems to
have been able to stave off the stagnation, but it’s always been his way to
cling to the energy of life over the stilled breath of death and abject
despair. How funny that the person in his life that seems to know the most
about living is a man killed well over a century ago by his insane Childe.
He taps several keys and after a few seconds
the crimson red light on the map flares brightly and the view zooms in and an
address tickertapes onto the screen. He stares at the glowing address for a
moment and then grabs his coat and throws himself out of the booth.
He’s not surprised to find out that the tracker
has led him to a bar, but he is rather surprised to find out that it’s actually
a rather nice looking, upscale establishment. He was rather expecting some
dingy, so far off the beaten track that there is no track kind of place. One of
the innumerable hole in the wall kind of place, that claim lives every night,
as the hopeless seek the oblivion of watered down liquor, cheap thrills and
even easier kills for those so inclined.
It’s easy enough to slip in, as the lateness of
the hour has driven all but the most determined night owls home to pursue other
means of entertainment and rest. It is the habit of centuries that seems him
clinging to the anonymity of the darkest corner’s welcoming shadows. Light has
never been his friend and soul aside, the shadows will always be his home, the
place where he belongs.
He’s not sure what he expected to see when he
got here, but he’s pretty sure that the sight before his eyes isn’t it. As much
as the shadows cling to him, claiming him eternally for its own, so the light
enfolds its welcoming arms around the oblivious blond on the stage.
The simple wooden guitar cradled in his lap
shines with rich oils and glows with age and loving care and it is obvious that
it has been well taken care of in the more than a century that has passed since
he last saw it. As in times past the simple instrument absorbs its master’s
seemingly tender strumming and returns notes so clear and true, that the
blackest of Demons wept more than once at its undeniable beauty. Nameless tunes
that once soothed the most savage of beasts into a purring contentment that has
never been equalled and could never be surpassed.
He braces his elbow against the table and lets
his head tip into his palm with a sigh as he watches the blond work his own
brand of magic. Merlin himself would surely be a hundred shade of green to be
an audience for such an enchanting show. A waitress arrives and takes his order
and returns with it a few minutes later and never once has his eyes strayed.
Everything seems surreal, yet strangely
familiar in some way that keeps nibbling away at the edge of his conscious
thoughts and he’s alternately fascinated and annoyed when he cannot label what
he is feeling. In keeping with the unreality of the moment, the normally razor
hard punk edge is totally lacking from the mercurial blond, leaving the
impression of soft approachability.
The black Duster that is as much a part of the
younger Vampire as his skin is no where in sight and without its encompassing
embrace he seems almost nakedly vulnerable. The tight black cotton of his usual
T-shirt has given way to a simple steel blue silk dress shirt. The cuffs are
unbuttoned and the sleeves are rolled back over his forearms and most of the
buttons are undone displaying the perfection of the chest it hugs. Bloused
casually for comfort and tucked in beneath the waistband and button fly of his
black belted jeans, he looks comfortable and classy in a casual way. The
skin-painted black jeans have been replaced with slightly more relaxed fitting
blue jeans. The denim is thin and worn with age and soft with countless cycles
through a washer. It clings to the strength of his lower body with buttery
softness that would rival a lover’s embrace. His usually harsh looking biker
boots or favourite Doc Martens are no where in sight, simple black suede cowboy
boots peek from beneath the hem of his jeans. His hands and wrists are naked of
his usual harsh and edgy jewellery and rings. The ring finger of his left hand
sports a simple signet ring and a tear stings the corner of his eye and he rubs
it away. He doesn’t need to strain his eyes to look closer at the ring to know
that it is the signet ring of their order. It once long ago graced his own
finger until the night that it was willingly gifted to the youngest Master Vampire
the Aurelius order had ever welcomed.
He was so proud of his Childer that night, as
they stood before the Demon world in the full thrust of their glory and were
the envy of all. He smiles gently to think how proud he was of he was again
earlier. He knew that Spike’s hand
would be the first one going up, would be the first one to understand exactly
what he was asking them to do, to give up. Part of him wants to do nothing more
than to knock him unconscious and wrap him in chains and have him secreted
safely away, far from the danger that will likely end his existence. Even as he
fights that impulse he knows that they’re both trapped and he despairs that in
making a bargain with the Devil to save his son, it will cost him the existence
of another childe. The Senior Partners aren’t going to let him survive much
past eliminating their pawns; assuming he of course even manages to survive
long enough to do that and isn’t killed in the attempt.
He meant what he said in his office earlier in
the day, he can’t do this without them, he can’t do it without Spike, and by
agreeing to help him he’s signed his own death warrant. There isn’t a doubt in
his mind that their long history together is going to end as it began, swimming
in blood and screaming with pain. He forces the maudlin thoughts away and
returns his attention to more important matters like enjoying what may well be
the last day of his un-life.
Spike’s eyes are half closed as his talented
hands coax the most amazing music from the instrument nuzzled in his lap. He’s
surprised at the mellow tones of the passionately fervent Spanish flamenco song
that by all rights should be beyond the range of the old guitar. It’s hardly
the only thing in the room however that is managing to defy its age and what
should have been its limitations.
He looks strangely at home amidst the quintet
of the other musicians gathered around him and he wonders if he’s known them
for long. Part of him mourns that he doesn’t even know the simple facts of
whether or not Spike has any friends in
Looking at him now, so comfortable and casual
amongst humans that he could easily be one of them and he envies him that gift.
Spike has always been the one that despite his well-earned reputation as a
killer, that has always managed to make himself at home among sea of humanity.
He has watched him on countless nights, swimming in and amongst the human tide
with all the grace of a sleek seal but the unquenchable hunger that drives a
shark. He’s watched it all before, in so many places that he can’t even
remember them all anymore. They practically swim up to him and offer up their
lives to his embrace. They court death with utter disregard for their lives,
and one more human is silently pulled beneath the tide of their number to feed
the predator in their midst.
He tilts his head and contemplates his deadly Grand-Childe.
His eyes widen as he realises that he isn’t hunting or having a lark on with
the small group of musicians around him. He’s actually enjoying himself and has
no agenda other than that.
He almost laughs, figuring that he’d sooner
have expected to find Spike in some dingy dive or dark and dreary coffeehouse
reciting his less than famous poetry; rather than to see him playing Troubadour
to a packed human bar. Maybe it goes to show just how little he really does
know about Spike.
“Tonight is kind of a special night, so we’re
going to do something a little different for you to mark the occasion. I may be
moving on tomorrow, you know how it is; always itching to see those new places
and different faces.” Spike’s voice is whiskey smooth and the cadence of his
accent has softened and lengthened into the silken tones of his privileged
upbringing.
He watches in amazement as Spike and his
band-mates adjust their microphones to singing level and get resettled. In all
their years, he has never heard his Grand-Childe sing. Drusilla raved and
gushed obscenely over her Childe’s vocal talents; among other more private
talents; but it was a pleasure reserved solely for her. No plea was successful,
no bribe was too great, and no torture was too painful to rip the gift from him
unwillingly. He should know; he tried repeatedly often enough. How sad that he
should finally hear it now.
Spike leans forward as his graceful hands strum
the strings of his guitar and he finds himself leaning farther over the table
to get just that one or two inches closer to him.
“You got to leave me now, you got to go alone.
You got to chase a dream, one that’s all your own. Before it slips away…” His
eyes slip closed on the beauty of that elusive voice after so long and he sways
gently to the rhythm. “When you’re flyin’ high, take my heart along. I’ll be
the harmony to every lonely song that you learn to play.” It’s more beautiful
than he could have imagined; he too would have kept such a gift for himself.
Spike’s band-mates join their voices pleasantly
to his for the chorus. “When you’re soarin’ through the air, I’ll be your solid
ground. Take every chance you dare, I’ll still be there, when you come back
down, when you come back down.”
“I’ll keep lookin’ up, awaitin’ your return. My
greatest fear will be that you will crash and burn; and I won’t feel your fire.”
Just Spike and the bassist continue. “I’ll be the other hand that always holds
the line. Connectin’ in between your sweet heart and mine, I’m strung out on
that wire.”
Spike continues on alone as the bassist falls
silent, his fingers flying over the strings. “And I’ll be on the other end; to
hear you when you call. Angel, you were born to fly, and if you get too high, I’ll
catch you when you fall, I’ll catch you when you fall.”
His eyes fly open and he stares in amazement.
Spike didn’t choose this song on purpose surely? He has no way of knowing he
would be here to hear it would he? To his amazement a tear wrestles its way
from the corner of his eye and he dashes it away.
“Your memory’s the sunshine every new day
brings. I know the sky is calling. Angel, let me help you with your wings.” His
mouth drops open and he can only watch helpless in the grip of emotion unlike
any he has ever known as Spike sings to him. He knows without a doubt now that
he is singing to him, for him. Spike’s
eyes are closed as he sways gently as he sings. A peaceful smile curves his
lips upward in a true smile rather than his usual arrogant smirk.
Spike’s band-mates join their voices pleasantly
to his again for the chorus. “When you’re soarin’ through the air, I’ll be your
solid ground. Take every chance you dare, I’ll still be there, when you come back
down, when you come back down.”
Their voices join once more in a pleasant
harmony. “When you’re soarin’ through the air, I’ll be your solid ground. Take
every chance you dare, I’ll still be there, when you come back down, when you
come back down.”
The band-mates slowly let their voices soften
until they’re an almost wordless accompaniment for Spike’s voice. “Take every
chance you dare, I’ll still be there, when you come back down, when you come
back down.”
All of their voices die away as their instruments
raise their own sibilant voices fading to a quiet peaceful fluttering and
finally a comfortable silence. The clapping begins after a moment of silence
and Spike accepts it graciously as he stands and carefully leaves the stage
area for a small alcove. The rest of the band stays seated and continue playing
and within a few minutes Spike returns minus the guitar.
He’s about to stand and go over to him when he
sees a tall, good looking man with dark hair intercept Spike and stops him with
a hand on his shoulder. Spike looks startled and vaguely alarmed for a moment
but he quickly veils his emotions with the casual skill of a century in the
parties and ballrooms of turn of the century society.
They stand talking for a few minutes and Spike
looks up through his lashes as flirtingly as any Debutante behind her fan and
nods. The man steers him toward the cleared floor space that serves as a
makeshift dance floor and wraps his arms around him, pulling him much closer
than propriety and good breeding will allow. He narrows his eyes and glares at
the sight of the dancing pair. They make for an attractive sight, the tall and
powerful build of the dark haired man a perfect foil for the sinuous and
graceful build of the smaller blond enfolded in his embrace. They pivot and
Angel claps his hand over his mouth to trap a startled shriek as the new angle
lets him see that Spike’s partner is none other than Marcus Hamilton! An
obviously possessive and proprietary liaison to the Senior Partners from the
look of things no less. He is out of his chair and taking refuge in the deepest
dark of the shadowed nooks the bar has to offer. It doesn’t appear that
It’s not the first time that Spike’s body has
been put on the line to ensure some plan or scheme of Angelus’ would succeed he
knows but it makes him feel ill to stand by and watch it happen. He forces
himself to stay put and keep to the plan he came up with; he knows that with Spike’s
help, even Hamilton’s strength wouldn’t prevent his demise but now is just not
the time. Everything has to go off like chain lightning if they’re going to
bring the evil machinations of the Senior Partners to a grinding halt. Acting
now, though he is really sorely
tempted to permanently remove Hamilton from existence, will only alert the
others to their duplicitous actions. That would be a disaster and would ruin
everything they’ve gone through up to now and it’s already cost them too much.
It takes Spike almost an hour to extricate
himself from Hamilton’s hold and he expects that his success had more to do
with the cell phone that seems to miraculously sprout from his hand and
answered with a scowl. He watches as Spike carefully schools his features to
betray a disappointment that he hardly feels at Hamilton’s imminent departure.
Judging by the arrogantly confident and pleased grin on his face, Hamilton is
more than convinced by the performance.
He watches as Spike watches Hamilton leave a
faintly longing expression on his face until he can see the last of him. A few
minutes later he lets the expression melt off his face to be replaced with a
burning hatred that makes him catch his breath. He understands now what he’s
been seeing all night. He should have realised it sooner and curses in his head
that he didn’t. The lack of Spike’s hard, razor edged style and softer manner
should have clued him in that he wasn’t dealing with ‘Spike’ anymore but
William the Bloody.
Strangely he’s not alarmed at the realisation
but comforted that they just may manage to pull off this suicidal plan he’s
come up with. With Spike channelling the controlled devastation that was
William the Bloody and maintaining the hard razor edges of his ‘Spike’ half
there’s nothing they can’t do. The last time they walked together Europe was on
its knees in fear and they were anarchy personified; how much more can they do
when they’re focused and controlled? L.A. is going to find out.
He watches as Spike leaves his field of vision
but a soft sound reaches his ears and he knows that Spike is leaning against
the other side of the thin drywall barrier that separates them. There have been
thicker walls between them than this through their many years but he finds it
hard not to resent this one the most, as it shouldn’t need to be there. He
knows that Spike’s caution is prudent and part of him is impressed that he’s
thinking so fast on his feet and dealt so skilfully with Hamilton’s surprising
appearance. He still wants to grind the tall man into cat food though.
“What did Hamilton want?” He keeps his voice
low, almost a purring breath rather than actually spoken but he knows that
Spike can hear him as easily as if he’d been shouting. A low amused chuckle
dances over his nerves. “Knock it off Spike!” He growls in vexation. “I could see what else he wanted but what did he
have to say?”
“He saw that little mixer-up in your office and
he was trying to feel me out about what happened I think. I told him it was
nothing but a bunch of wanker-posturing on your part, pulling an Angelus is the
biggest, baddest doggy on the planet to make sure we were in line. He bought
into that since it seems to fit the way you’ve been acting lately and he
changed the subject after that.” Spike replies just as softly.
“He looked like he was pretty into you there.”
He replies back with a grimace.
Another amused chuckle dances over nerves that
already feel like they have fire licking across them. “A good nine or ten
inches into unless I’m mistaken.” A low warning growl sobers Spike up right
away. “He wanted to assure me that I had at least one ‘friend’ in very high
places and that I could rely on him to make sure that what happened to Drogyn
didn’t happen to me. I got the impression that he was hinting at something but
he never came right out and said anything. I think you’re right…about that
matter we discussed earlier, right about the who too I think.”
“They must not be sure that the information is
reliable or they probably would have tried to stop us by now.” He replies
musingly.
“Or they think that we can’t do it.” Spike says bitingly. “And plan
to get their chuckles over watching us try.”
“That Keystone Cops routine in Rome aside, we’re
not to be taken that lightly Spike.”
“I still say the Senior Tossers had more than a
little to do with that humiliation Mate. The timing was just a little too
convenient, ya get my drift.”
“You may be right but in a way I’m actually
glad we got our asses handed back to us. If The Immortal can do that to us than
Buffy should be safe enough with him. They may have intended to humiliate and demoralise
us but instead they’ve set us free.”
“Yeah Mate whatever, I still hate the Tosser.”
Spike growls. “I guess you’re right though. Don’t suppose who Buffy is ‘moving
on’ with is going to matter much soon anyway.”
He turns on his side and presses his palm
against the wall. “For what it’s worth, the only way I’d be sure she would be
safer is if she was with you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that Angel. She’s
died once on my watch already.”
“That wasn’t your fault Spike. Willow told me
what happened, you did everything you could. It’s just what had to happen. It
may surprise you to hear but none of them ever blamed you for letting her down,
not really. I think they all kind of respected you in the end. They came here
after…Sunnydale was gone and they were grieving, not just for Anya either.”
“Well guess they can be nice enough to the
dearly departed.” Spike says grudgingly. “Just as well they think I’m still
dust.”
“You never told any of them you were back?” He’s rather surprised by that. He can
see why he may be wary of telling Buffy but as strange as it is, those kids and
Giles were as close to family as he’s had in a long time.
“It’s been too long since you spent time with
them hasn’t it?” Spike’s voice is sad but a thread of amusement runs through it
as well. “You tell one Scooby anything and you’ll be telling them all. Andrew
is the only one that knows and he promised me that he wouldn’t say anything and
I believe him. In a way he inherited my spot now didn’t he? It’s in his
interests to keep my counsel to himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Demon Girl and I were the pet projects. Hey
lets see if we can tame these Demons to play nice and sure we had our uses for
a while. In the end we sacrificed ourselves, funny that isn’t it? Andrew
inherited their attentions and from what I saw in Rome he’s thriving on it. The
ponce isn’t about to give that up because one of their pet projects suddenly
gets himself de-dusted now is he?”
“Well I guess not, but it’s their loss.” He
tries to sound comforting but in truth he knows that neither of them ever
really belonged to their exclusive little group and were little more than
useful muscle to keep around. “I’m sorry about well everything.” He says honestly.
“I should have come for you when I heard about the chip those bastards shoved
in your head. I’d spent long enough fighting my natural urges, I could have
helped you. Especially once you got your soul back.”
“Water under a very old and rickety bridge,
Angel and maybe it’s best to just let that water run on by.” Spike says on a
sigh, not really wanting to spend his last hours reopening old wounds. “What
are you doing here anyway? I figured you’d have more important things to do…like
Dog Girl.”
“Yeah well I sent her away. It was the only way
to keep her safe.” He finds that he’s not really missing her as much as he
would have thought he would and wonders if his feelings for her are as deep as
he first thought.
“Well one less person to go down in flames, I
guess that’s good now innit?” Spike says quietly.
“I’d send you away if I could William.” As soon
as he says it he realises that he means it and it’s not just empty words of
comfort.
“We both know that’s not in the cards we’ve
been dealt. You need me and I guess part of me needs to be here too. The fight’s
here and it’s nasty, where else would I be?” Spike tries to make his voice
sound flippant and irrelevant but underneath it all there is responsibility and
courage. “How does that quote go, ‘Live by the sword, die by the sword’ is it?”
“I think I’d rather live.” He’s startled to
hear himself say with a laugh.
“You’re better than two centuries too late for
that Mate.” Spike joins in the laughter.
They both fall silent for several moments just
enjoying the camaraderie.
“I liked your music.” He says quietly. “At
least I can say I’ve heard you sing now.” A quiet chuckle is his answer. “Thank
you for that William. How did you know I would show up here?”
“I didn’t and I’m shocked that you have. You’re
kind of hard to miss though you know, Mate. Not too many people walking around
smelling like blood and Sandalwood these days. Got a bit of a shock yourself
did you?”
“Well I admit; I didn’t expect to see…what I
did.”
“Let me guess…seedy bar…loose woman…Jack Daniel’s
flowing like water and floating me down the river of drunken debauchery.” Spike
says clearly amused.
“Well something like that…I expected…poetry I
guess.” His laughter joins Spike’s and he finds that it makes a very pleasant
sound and it’s sad that it should be circumstances like these that should
reveal that.
“I did that earlier so you were partially
right.” He can hear the smile in Spike’s voice. “I did all of the above…well it
was a loose man, but still same idea right?” He finds himself envying that
unnamed man and fights down the very real urge to hunt him down and drain him
dry. “It just seemed fitting to come here, I’m not really sure why.” The truth
rings loudly in his voice. “I guess I came into this existence as William, I’d
like to go out as him too.”
“I kind of did like your poetry.” He really
does but as Angelus he wasn’t really ever supposed to miss things like that and
it became just one more weapon that could be used to hurt Spike. “I miss it.”
“Want me to sprout off my poncy verse now?”
Spike’s voice is clearly belittling and the scoffing tone tells him that he’s
not expecting him to say yes.
“Would you please?” There is dead silence at
his softly spoken words and finally Spike answers.
“Sure Mate but it’s not any better now than it
used to be, but I guess a Barry Manilow aficionado would hardly be a tough
audience.” A small chuckle that is part embarrassed nervousness and part
smokescreen causes a small pang in his heart. He’s done so much to damage Spike
that it’s a wonder that they’ve managed to find what peace that they have.
“Lift up your voices, oh heavenly host,
And sing me to my end of days.
I have grown wearied of this life and find I
cannot stay.
Of all the souls that I have known,
Yours is the one that I will miss the most.
Play the song of my life and I will call the
dance.
I have grown weary of this life and find that I
cannot stay.
Sing me to my end of days, oh trusted Angel
show me the way,
Show me how to stay or sing me to my end of
days.
This will be one good day; I’ll follow the
Angel that shows me the way.
Together we shall sing us to our end of days.”
“Wow that was really nice, when did you write
that one?” He’s flattered because he’s pretty sure he’s the ‘Angel’ in it.
“Just now actually, but like I said; Hallmark’s
got nothing to worry about with me.”
“I liked it.”
“Well you still like Barry Manilow too.”
“Hey, he’s an often overlooked musical genius!”
“Yeah, yeah and I’m William Shakespeare.”
“Well you’re half right.” They both laugh. “Would
you…will you sing again?”
“I thought we were saving the torture for the
bad guys, but sure if you want.” He can hear Spike walking away but he doesn’t
move, just turns to lean his back against the wall and closes his eyes.
He can hear Spike softly talking to the band
and the rustle of silk and denim as he gets settled.
“A very old friend has made a special request
for one more song and since he’s heading out on what may be a very long trip, I’ve
decided to indulge him. This song really isn’t my usual style but great talent
knows no barriers so here is my version of it.”
The band starts to play a soft tune, heavy on
the piano, lilting and drifting over the bar. Spike lifts up his voice. “Hearts
are worn in these dark ages. You’re not alone in this story’s pages. Night has
fallen amongst the living and the dying and I try to hold it in, yeah I try to
hold it in.” Spike’s voice is soft but strong, gently forcing its way into the
softly playing melody.
“The world’s on fire and it’s more than I can
handle. I’ll tap into the water.” Spike’s voice is husky and heartfelt as it
picks up the first lines of the chorus.
“I try to pull my ship.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s stronger tones.
“I try to bring more, more than I can handle.”
“Bring it to the table.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s stronger tones.
“Bring what I am able” Spike’s clear voice
continues on alone once more.
“I watch the heavens and I find a calling,
something I can do to change this moment.
Stay close to me while the sky is falling; don’t
wanna be left alone, don’t wanna be alone.”
“The world’s on fire and it’s more than I can
handle. I’ll tap into the water.” Spike’s voice is clear and husky with emotion
as it lifts into the chorus again.
“I try to pull my ship.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s stronger tones once more.
“I try to bring more, more than I can handle.”
“Bring it to the table.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s melodic tones.
“Bring what I am able.” Spike’s clear voice continues
on alone once more.
“Hearts break, hearts mend, love still hurts;
visions clash, planes crash. Still there’s talk of saving souls, still the cold
is closing in on us.” The bassist joins Spike and their voices weave together
in a pleasant counter-balance.
“We part the veil on our killer sun. Stray from
the straight line on this short run. The more we take, the less we become, a
fortune of one that means less for some.” Spike voice deepens with his rolling
emotions as it trails to silence for an instrumental break.
“The world’s on fire and it’s more than I can
handle. I’ll tap into the water.” Spike’s voice is clear and husky with emotion
as it lifts into the chorus again.
“I try to pull my ship.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s stronger tones once more creating a haunting refrain.
“I try to bring more, more than I can handle.”
Spike’s tones deepen and roughen slightly into a purring cadence that is
hauntingly evocative.
“Bring it to the table.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s melodic tones.
“Bring what I am able.” Spike’s clear voice
continues on alone once more.
“The world’s on fire and it’s more than I can
handle. I’ll tap into the water.” Spike’s voice is clear and husky with emotion
as it lifts into the chorus again.
“I try to pull my ship.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s stronger tones once more.
“I try to bring more, more than I can handle.”
“Bring it to the table.” The band harmonises
their voices to Spike’s melodic tones.
“Bring what I am able.” Spike’s clear voice
continues on alone once more, slowing and deepening until he is almost talking
rather than singing. He lifts his voice in a wordless refrain that weaves into
the music as it trails to silence.
Once again the crowd is silent for several
moments before breaking out in applause. He can’t bring himself to join them as
he holds himself as still as death; anything to keep the moment unchanging and
inviolate for just one minute longer.
When he opens his eyes it’s to look into Spike’s
glowing eyes, as rich and vibrant as the deepest blue sapphire. A simple brown
leather bomber jacket has replaced his ubiquitous black leather Duster and a
guitar case is cradled between his legs and a wicked smile graces his full
lips.
He stares wide eyed as the younger Vampire
leans closer, way beyond the usual comfort zone of his persona space to
whisper. “Why Angelus, is that a tracker in your pocket or are you just glad to
see me?”
He pulls the palm sized bit of electronics out
of his pocket with a quirk of his brow that has the blond chuckling and shaking
his head. “I’m still glad to see you though too.” He reaches out and takes
Spike’s unresisting hand and presses it to the evidence of that as it lies
restlessly against his thigh.
Spike’s brow quirks up and his eyes and smile
deepen as the light of intrigued curiosity about where he’s going with this
little scene brightens his eyes. “You’ve got something in mind?”
“No, I actually thought I’d stop thinking for a while actually. Care
to help me with that?”
“You know me; I’ve never been one for thinking
too much.” Spike says gruffly.
“Teach me to do that?” He asks quietly.
“I think I can handle that Mate, but I thought
you wanted to play things cool in case we’re being watched?”
“So let ‘em watch.” He slips his hand into
Spike’s and pulls him closer, careful not to tip over the guitar case leaning
against his legs but spike carefully moves it aside and leans it against the
wall. “I think you’ve taught me a valuable lesson about the evils of thinking too
much.
“I didn’t know you had it in you Mate.” Spike
says with a devilish smile as he relaxes and feels himself being moulded
against the strong form of the man pulling him closer.
“I’d rather see what we can get into you.” He
leans over and wraps a hand around the guitar case and links their free hands
together and heads for the stairs to the basement.
“You know I really wish that one of these days
someone doesn’t wait until the eve of
my imminent destruction to get all cosy and kissy-face with me. It’d be much
more of a giggle really.” Spike sniffs in disgust.
“Less talking and more keeping up here Spike.
We’re on the clock you know.” He says with a smile in his voice.
“Right Mate, heaven forbid we should be late
for the Apocalypse or something.” Spike quips but obligingly picks up the pace.
If he’s going to go out in a blaze of fiery glory than at least it’ll be with a
bang to remember he thinks as Angel pulls him down the stairs after him.
Is it the beginning of the end or just the
end of the beginning? Guess you’ll just have to keep tuning in to find out.