Title: Passing
Author: Foxhunt2blue
Summary: As long as we cherish the memories of a loved 
one they will never cease to exist. We will grieve, we will 
even hate them for leaving us behind, but soon we realize 
in time that no one truly dies as long as they are loved.
Rated: R
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Disclaimer: Joss is the lucky son of a bitch---not I. 
*whimper
Feedback: As you wish.
E-mail: foxhunter2blue@peoplepc.com
 
***
 
Somewhere in all the time they had spent together, he 
recalled a conversation over a couple of pints and a 
basket of hot wings. Of course, the hot wings had been 
for him. Wings were something his lover had pruned his 
face at on more than one occasion. It was right up there 
with pizza---pepperoni, sausage, onions, and extra cheese.
 
He could never quite explain some things.
 
"Greece." His lover had whispered as he stared at the 
crumpled wax paper stained with spicy buffalo sauce.
 
"Greece?" He'd raised a brow as he slid a smoke from his 
pocket and lit up without a second thought. "What about 
Greece, pet?"
 
"I've never been to Greece..." his dark eyes had gotten 
that far away look in them that they often had as he sat 
behind his desk watching the sunset over Los Angeles. 
 
Smirking as he blew a faint cloud of blue-grey smoke from 
between his pursed lips, he chuckled. "Ain't missing much, 
luv. Just a bunch of crumbling ruins from some bloody 
civilization that was just as twisted as these blokes." He'd 
motioned around the small smoky bar, his cigarette 
leaving a trail of passing smoke.
 
His lover had looked up from where he had been tracing 
patterns in the damp ring left behind by his mug. "Shame 
on you. Where’s the poet in your soul?"
 
"Must have faded away in that dark alley." He snorted.
 
Chuckling his companion leaned across the table raising 
one dark disbelieving brow. "I know better than that you 
poor excuse for a peroxide punk. That poet is still 
there...just hidden away."
 
"That what you bloody well think?"
 
"No." His lover paused as he lifted the pint to his lips. "I 
know that for sure."
 
***
 
That particular conversation had stuck with him.
 
He'd went out the next night to a small shop not far from 
his basement flat and found something he'd never 
thought he would---a small leather bound journal with 
blank pages and a quill pen. Not one of the old feather 
types because that wasn't convenient, but a modern 
version with the ink cartridges. Something he could carry 
tucked away in the folds of his leather coat.
 
From that moment forward, he wrote everyday.
Perhaps it wasn't the best writing he'd ever done, but he 
did it.
 
He'd wander the city at night when he wasn't helping his 
lover 'fight the good fight' and he'd take in everything---
especially the people and their faces, their scents. This 
was everything that was in his lover's opinion 'worth 
fighting for'.
 
***
 
The night before the big battle he'd slipped away to a 
dark, smoky bar on open mike night and finally spoke 
aloud the words he'd committed to those blank pages. 
Smoke in one hand, beer in the other he'd hunched down 
on the stool beneath the hot spotlight and poured his 
soul out to a room of strangers. Each word was an echo 
of the sound of the bright metal tip scratching the blank 
paper as it passed over the page leaving behind a scrawl 
of dark blue ink.
 
The reaction had been further from anything he could 
have imagined.
 
Applause.
 
Calls of 'More! More!' and beer mugs thumping on stained 
wood. As he had glanced up into the darkness beyond the 
spotlight he'd caught a passing movement and smiled.
 
His lover had been lurking in the back of the bar listening 
as he had bared his soul for the first time in over a 
hundred years. That moment unlike so many others would 
not pass, but stay imprinted in his mind's eye.
 
***
 
At the end of the battle he'd knelt in the ashes of what 
had once been Los Angeles' mean streets and wept as he 
held his lover close. He was weak and exhausted barely 
able to stand on his own, yet he refused to leave his 
lover's side as the sun began to rise over the slaughter 
left behind.
 
"...don't be...an idiot..."
 
He blinked against the tears as he watched the soft glow 
of the rising sun draw every closer to where he sat.
"Ain't a bloody idiot...ain't leaving you yet, peaches."
 
"...always with...stupid...nicknames..." his lover panted and 
coughed as the last of his blood slowly trailed across the 
pavement. "...gave it up...for you..."
 
There was no need to ask what. He knew what the other 
man had given up, but why he couldn't understand. For 
the past few years, he had fought so hard, to redeem 
himself and still he'd signed his chance away. A chance at 
a normal happy life.
 
"Damn stupid...sodding fool..." he whispered pressing his 
lips against his dying companion's bloody brow. "Only you 
would give mortality up."
 
A choked chuckle escaped his friend, his sire, and his lover.
"...you wanted...wanted it more..."
 
"Course I did..." he whispered softly, "...not sure why 
though."
 
"...you will..."
 
A shudder traveled through the dead weight in his arms 
as the sunlight came closer. He could do a number of 
things at this point, but what he really wanted he couldn't 
accomplish. 
 
He wanted his lover to survive.
 
It wasn't about to happen though. The very thing that 
had given his lover the strength to slay the dragon had 
been his death sentence. Blood so ancient it pre-dated 
the first vampire---the first slayer even---the blood of 
purest evil. It was a poison far greater than any known to 
this world.
 
"...go..."
 
Gently kissing his lover's brow one last time he lowered his 
head onto the blood soaked pavement in the alley. Stand-
ing on weak legs he turned and ran for the shelter of the 
shadows. Behind him, he heard his lover cry out as the 
first light of dawn passed over his dying flesh. 
 
***
 
Standing on the cliff facing the Mediterranean, the ruins 
of ancient Athens behind him, he stood with the urn 
cradled in his arms. His tear filled gaze watched as the last 
of the fading day passed into night the sky dark cobalt 
edged with a faint gold.
 
"Well, luv..." he sighed as he looked down at the simple 
brass urn. "You said you wanted to see Greece. Couldn't 
see it, but I thought maybe...oh, bloody hell..."
 
He stepped closer to the edge of the rocky cliff as his 
vision blurred. Blinking he removed the lid of the urn and 
peered into the interior. His chest tightened as he took a 
deep breath then slowly recited the words he had written 
that first night in his journal as he huddled in the 
shadows.
 
Lost to humanity.
 
Drawn to darkness.
 
Shown the light by gypsy magic.
 
A soul forever divided and at war.
 
In a distant city far from his home,
at last the light did win the fight.
 
Though, body may be gone.
 
Though, voice silenced in this world.
 
A soul exists forever awaiting another
at that final gate...
 
Lifting the urn high by the base he twisted his wrist 
sending the dark grey ash flying from the only home it 
had known for three long years. Closing his eyes, he 
dropped the urn over the edge of the cliff into the dark 
waters below.
 
"'Night, luv."
 
As Angel's ashes rode the night breeze passing over the 
softly whispering waters Spike turned and walked into the 
night.
 
Too once more, 'fight the good fight'.
 
~Finis~