Title: That Which Remains
Author: Foxhunt2blue
Summary: On a lonely beach, a man confronts the grief 
that is consuming him. Post-NFA
Rating: R 
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Disclaimer: Our wonderful Joss created them I had 
nothing to do with it-wish I had. 
Feedback: Please feed the sad little angst/slash ho' 
cause she can be quite pathetic.
E-mail: foxhunter2blue@peoplepc.com 

*** 



When you have lost everything and there is nothing left, 
but the bitter taste of ashes and blood in your mouth 
that is when the mind slips into another world. You lose 
yourself in a fantasy that may or may not bring you 
what you desire more than any thing in the darkness 
that remains. 
He had shed everything that had once symbolized him 
and the great battle he'd fought for years. They were 
only things, inanimate objects that held no value to his 
much-vaunted soul. Those things that had faded away 
in a swirl of shadows and rending flesh, of anguished 
cries and promises broken. 
Forever was what he'd told his childe. 
*** 
In the months, after Spike had returned he'd fought 
hard to not remember those precious moments that he'd 
had with his seductive blue-eyed protégé. 
Hunting beneath the silvery light of the full moon deep 
in the forests of Austria, their bodies would move as if 
they were formed of liquid mercury. Eyes filled with 
lust not just for the hunt and the slaughter, but for one 
another. 
After the hunt, washing away the remains of their blood 
soaked feast in the cool water of a mountain stream or 
lake. Limbs entangling in the lush green grass, beneath 
whispering leaves that shifted to allow the moon's pale 
light to be the only witness to a coupling that only two 
immortals could understand---or want. 
Finally he'd given up on suppressing those memories 
and he'd caught Spike one night, shortly after becoming 
corporeal, swimming in the pool at the employee gym. 
The faint glow of the moon the only light in that huge 
cavernous room. 
They'd fought as was their way, calling one another 
names, and even exchanging blows, but this time, it had 
ended far differently. 
They'd found themselves in the water, clawing at one 
another, stripping their bodies as well as their souls of 
what they'd hidden behind for so many years. The 
water warm and soothing around them. No need to 
breathe as they clung to one another in a wild dance 
beneath the surface. It had been there that they had 
finally come to admit, in strokes of hands and desperate 
kisses, that they needed one another far more than they 
had ever wanted to admit. 
Afterward, lying on the edge of the pool, satiated and 
exhausted, Angel watched as Spike swam, gliding 
through the dark water and smiled to himself. His 
childe had always loved the water perhaps because he'd 
grown to adulthood in the dreary, grey streets of 
London. For the first time the newly turned William 
saw the Mediterranean beneath the glow of the moon 
he'd leapt in with out a thought to the fact he could not 
swim. 
Angelus had been so taken with William's fascination 
that he'd taught him to swim. That had become their 
shared passion afterward, making love in water any 
chance they'd gotten. 
So was it any surprise that now almost six months after 
the dreaded battle in Los Angeles Angel found himself 
alone and staring out into the Caribbean Ocean thinking 
of his beloved childe. If Spike were to have survived he 
would have taken him here and they would have made a 
home on one of the many small islands drifting in those 
waters. 
A tiny smile curled Angel's lips as he contemplated 
what the afterlife might be like for Spike. He imagined 
that Spike would chose to be a water sprite if he had a 
choice. 
Playful, pesky, and beautiful living in an eternal world 
of water and sandy beaches. Perhaps he'd even have 
wings... 
From the moment he looked, he knew it was only a 
hallucination brought on by his whimsical thoughts, but 
it seemed to real to ignore---so he clung to it. 
Spike was walking out of the foamy waves; his body 
just as Angel remembered it---smooth, perfect, and pale 
as winter snow. Nothing between that exquisite body 
and the cool night breeze. Gone though was the harsh 
bleached locks replaced by soft downy bristles in the 
color Angel recalled was his natural one. 
Sparks of shimmering light danced around him, 
reminding Angel of Peter Pan's companion Tinkerbell. 
He laughed softly at the idea of that---the boy who 
would never grow up. He'd often thought Spike was 
exactly like that and at times it had frustrated him to no 
end. 
Tonight though, on this dark, secluded beach it enticed 
him along with the salty scent of the ocean Spike had 
walked from. 
As Spike came closer, rivulets of water trailing down 
his pale nude body Angel saw the wings. Slender 
opalescent fluttering gossamer things that rose and fell 
with each step Spike took. They caught the moonlight 
and shattered it into sparkling rainbows that danced in 
the night air. 
"You're not real..." Angel whispered. 
Spike's lips curled into a soft smirk that was as much a 
part of him as his soul had been. His eyes sparkled with 
mischief as he reached out caressing one cool slender 
hand along Angel's face. 
"'M as real as you want me to be, luv." 
Tears trailed down Angel's face as he closed his eyes to 
the ethereal illusion before him. His breath hitching in 
his throat was the only sound other than the soft voice 
of the waves tumbling over the shadowy sand. 
"I didn't want this." Angel sighed as he leaned into 
Spike's touch. "What's the point of being human if you 
have nothing to live for? That's why I signed it 
away..." 
"S'okay...you're not alone anymore. Never were." 
Angel opened his eyes expecting the mirage to be gone, 
but Spike remained---his wings fluttering in the night 
breeze. "But you're not real." 
"Don't matter. Came for you---didn't I?" 
Pushing Angel down on the cool sand, Spike straddled 
him and lowered his lips to Angel's mouth. The kiss 
was filled with magic, with a powerful passion that 
made Angel's heart sing. 
"Take me..." Angel moaned softly as he shifted to his 
stomach. 
There was the soft flutter of wings and a quick breath of 
cool air on his neck as Spike crawled up his body, 
hands on either side of his hips. "Waited to hear you tell 
me that. Waited forever, pet." 
"Don't want to be alone anymore." Angel cried softly 
as his childe slid into him---cool and hard. "Don't want 
to be alone." 
"Not alone anymore. Never alone, again..." Spike 
purred in his ear as his moved in and out of Angel's 
tight body. "Never let you go, luv." 
*** 
Dawn rose over the clear blue waters of the cove in a 
swirl of color, the light creeping over the sand and 
warming it. The young boy and his mutt worked their 
way along the rocks searching for driftwood and shells. 
He was an artist in his heart and in his soul and so he 
came out every morning searching. Searching for small 
pieces of the earth and ocean to use in his sculptures. 
As he worked his way around the rocks his mutt took 
off barking and disappeared. Cursing beneath his 
breath, he scrambled over the rocks to see the dog 
whining and snuffling around something. 
"What is it boy?" He ran up the beach and as he got 
closer, he ran faster. "Dios mio..." he whispered as he 
fell to his knees. 
It was a man curled up on his side, the waves lapping at 
his bare feet. There was no need, the boy thought, to 
check for a pulse for his body said everything. 
Clutched in one hand was a slim stiletto, the flesh at his 
wrist sliced open, raw, and pink. Beneath it, the sand 
was black with the blood that had poured from the 
wound. In the other hand was a damp piece of 
parchment stained with the same blood. 
The boy rolled the man over and as his gaze settled on 
the pale face, he noticed the blue tinted lips that were 
frozen in a look of eternal bliss. 
"The face of an angel..." the boy whispered. 
Turning back to the parchment, he freed it from the 
long graceful fingers that still clutched it in death. 
Unrolling it, he glanced down and tears welled in his 
eyes. 
It was an image of a young man with wild curls, sharp 
cheekbones, and a smile. One that when combined with 
the flashing eyes, seemed to give the sketch a life of its 
own. Beneath it were words scrawled in haste, the ink 
splotchy from either tears or the waves that had washed 
up on the sand. 
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm. 
Lowering his head, the boy crossed himself whispering 
a silent prayer in the warming dawn air. "May you find 
peace in his arms at last." 


~Finis~