TITLE: White Fire
AUTHOR: Foxhunt2blue
RATING: R
SUMMARY: She had left him with only the memory of
her flesh glowing in candlelight, her scent filling his mind
with a desire that was unbearable.
DISCLAIMER: BtVS and all characters related to BtVS
belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Productions & Fox. I have
never owned them though I have fantasied at times ;)
ARCHIVE: Yes! Just let me know! :D
FEEDBACK: I need it like the air I breath.
foxhunter2blue@yahoo.com or
Kitsunegari2001@aol.com
 
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White Fire
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Beneath the white fire of the moon
Loves wings are broken all to soon...
                          Lyrics from "Heart of Stone"
                          Recorded by Cher 1989
 
It was over.
She had used all her pretty little words to explain the
how and why of it. Becoming the great martyr of the
universe, yet again in their world.
Spike sat on the crumbling stoop of his tomb, eyes
gazing across the mist shrouded cemetary. The stench of
burnt demonic flesh drifting through the splintered door of
what had been his home. He should have known this was
going to happen, he thought, when he caught a whiff of the
soldier boy.
If he had a heart that beat it would be breaking right now,
shattering into tiny slivers of stone. 
Colorless and cold.
Everything seemed colorless though beneath the harsh light 
of the full moon, the color burnt away in a white fire. 
 
The white fire of her skin dancing through his mind, a
fire he could still feel against his cool fingertips.

Lifting his eyes skyward he watched as gauzy clouds 
drifted across the face of the moon. How could he have 
thought she would ever actually love him? 
Him? 
A vampire who had what he was ripped from him. 
He had been a killer, trained by the best, nurtured in the 
arms of the fiercest of sires and grandsires. Oh, for the 
glory days of yore. 
The taste of Dru on his lips, blood on his hands and that 
throb of desire swelling in the pit of his stomach.
A burning that refused him nothing.
Reaching into his coat he pulled out the pack he had snatched
earlier in the evening. With trembling fingers he peeled back 
the thin gold strip that sealed the package, a burst of fresh 
tobacco tickling his nose. Nothing like a good smoke to take 
a boy's mind off a broken heart.
She had left him with only the memory of her flesh glowing 
in candlelight, her scent filling his mind with a desire that was 
unbearable. A desire that had made him forget everything he
had lost, a desire that filled the aching void in his chest.
What had that bastard Angelus had that he didn't?
A soul, the faint whisper teases his ears.
Yeah, but a soul isn't all it's cracked up to be the, tiny
devil on his shoulder whispered. 
Had Angel made her scream like she had for him?
They had only one night, she and his bastard grand sire, but
still she clung to that as if it were the only need she had. He 
knew better than that. 
 
A flicker of silver against pale flesh.
His back arching against the confines of metal and warm flesh.
 
"Stop it Spike...just stop it," he mumbled to himself, lifting the
cigarette he drew on it till his lungs burned with the effort. 
She had cared.
He knew she had.
They were very much alike though he knew she would argue.
Outcasts...lost...drifting.
Riding the fire out, praying for death and life in the same sobbing
breath. Minds seeking answers to questions they had, yet to
speak. Her problem was that she was trying to be something she
wasn't...human. A normal human woman just as he was trying to
pretend he wasn't anything but a human man.
If he admitted who he truly was he wasn't sure his mind would be 
able to survive.
 
*I'm using you Spike*
 
No, she hadn't been using him anymore than he had been using 
her. It had been so long since he had touched a woman, a real
flesh and blood woman. Skin soft beneath his, blood warm and
full of fire...of life. He had thought she was the one. The one who
could finally give him what he had sought diligently over the last
century.
 
*I'm sorry William*
 
Suddenly it hit him.
She had used his name, his real name, his human name. 
The look in her eyes was filled with an emotion he knew was there,
that had always been there.
"Bloody hell," he whispered to himself. 
Why couldn't she see it?
Because you sodden fool she can't believe that a demon has a heart, 
he thought, if she let's that happen then the monsters won't just be 
monsters anymore. It's easier to kill what doesn't have a heart.
With a flick of his finger he shot the butt across the grass, a fiery
brightness against the faded white of moonlight. Standing he brushed
off the seat of his jeans off, then grabbed his coat, flinging it over his
shoulder. He knew what he had to do to make it work.
Despite his outer appearance, leather and attitude to spare, he had
been raised in a world of tradition. Weaving in between the monuments
he headed for the one place he hadn't thought of before. Oh, he had been 
there before, though she wouldn't have believed his reasons. 
Finally he came to the spot nestled beneath a tree. 
Lowering himself to the dew speckled grass he studied the headstone. 
Simple yet elegant were the words he would use to describe it. Very 
much the same as the life it marked.
"Hiya Joyce old girl," he smiled softly as he lit another cigarette. "Hope
you don't mind, but a fag helps me think better sometimes."
He cocked his head almost expecting to hear her voice laced with
distrust or annoyance. Joyce had always been predictable in that way,
he had loved her for it too.
"I've started a bit of a spat here between your daughter and me. I did
have the most honorable intentions in the beginning, but you know your
little girl Joyce...she has a mind of her own. She doesn't think I can
love
and maybe she's right, but I can try."
He inhaled letting his eyes drift from the headstone to where the moon
had reached her zenith. Now everything he saw glowed with a fine
spun web of silver.
 
*Do you want me?*
 
So sweet, yet tinged with a bitter edge that burned.
His eyes lowered once more to the marble, his hand against the face,
cool and smooth beneath his splayed fingers.
"She says she doesn't love me...she says she was just using me. I 
know you raised her better Joyce. She's just scared...I'm scared
for that matter."
Spike cleared his throat, eyes filling with a moisture he hadn't know
he could muster. When he had been human they pushed him away,
calling him names. His chest tightened with the feel of their betrayal.
William the Bloody.
Bloody awful that is...
Soft laughter reached out over the years, tickling his ears.
"I love your daughter Joyce and I want to tell you that I will take
care of her. She'll come around. I just wanted to let you know
my intentions are honorable."
Standing he brushed his fingers over the top of the stone, then turned
to leave. If he noticed the flicker of movement in the bushes there
was no sign. 
A flash of white fire.
Wide hazel eyes, moist with tears tracked his movements as he
wandered through the low lying mist.
She slipped from the shadows those same eyes lowering to the stone,
then lifting to trace his movement in the white fire of his hair. Beneath
the moonlight it burned like a cold ember in the shadows.
Somewhere inside her his words touched the wounded heart that lay
hidden there. He was right...she was afraid.
Afraid of so much, but never of him.
She felt as if her soul had been crushed.
Her wings broken.
"Hey, Mom what am I going to do," Buffy whispered.
 
The End