Like An Old Song
December 29, 2004
1,000 words
Written for thomasina75 in btvs_santa.
The title comes from W.B. Yeats' poem 'O Do Not Love Too Long' which I have transcribed at the end.
* * *
... 
(Spike/Anya, 100 words)
It was over before it even started.
"So… this is… it, I guess." Anya put her clothes back on, avoiding Spike's gaze.
"Yeah." Spike pulled on his pants. "You know, we could, do that again… if you want?"
"See, I was going to tell you I really didn’t want this to happen again. We were drunk, you're really hot, I was just… using you. And you know, you're not even as good as Xander. When he fucks me he…"
Shell-shocked, Spike watched Anya gather her things as she chattered about Xander's amazing abilities. "What?" She had got to be kidding.
***
... 
(Spike/Faith, 150 words)
Faith looked straight into his eyes. "I can't do this anymore Spike. I mean, you're hot and man, I love it when you push me against a wall," She licked her lips, " I think I've got something with Robin, and I don't want to screw this up."
Spike looked away and then back to Faith. "Good. Don't."
"You… should talk to B. She might be a selfish bitch, but she's still got it in for you, and you still want her." She tried to touch his hand, but he evaded her fingers.
"Not really the best time for that talk. She'll come to me when she's ready." Spike smiled. "Anyway, you go and be romantic with the principal, it's not like this was more than sex anyhow." He paused. "It was great sex, right?"
Faith brushed his hand and smirked at him. "Wouldn't have wanted it any other way."
***
... 
(Spike/Fred, 200 words)
"I'd like to keep Spike as my pet." Illyria tilted her head, and turned away from Angel, looking straight at Spike.
And it was at that very moment, that Spike was hit by the truth. Sweet and innocent, goodness and light, Fred had been everything Spike wanted to hold on to but never could. And now…
She was gone. Her body still walked, but she was gone, completely and utterly gone. Somewhere he couldn't reach, couldn't follow. No matter how much he wanted to.
She had been the dream that faded away as soon as he woke up, the wish Spike kept buried so deep he didn't even remember making it. Not until she was gone and he was faced with the darkness and the pain that enveloped him. But it was too late.
There was no more hope.
And Spike *had* hoped, but in the end he finally believed that the shell she had left behind had nothing in common with her.
Fred was unique, and even though the light at the end of the tunnel had suddenly gone out, Spike would keep on trying, fighting, putting up with Angel. For her. So that her death wouldn't be meaningless.
***
(Spike/Buffy, 250 words)
"Hey." It was whispered shyly and wouldn't have woken up Spike if he had still been sleeping.
"Hey. What… what are you… doing here?" He asked, barely able to speak, his throat still hurting from the severe damage it had received.
"I thought I would… check up on you. See how you were doing." Buffy sat beside his bed, and made to reach for his hand, but stopped short of touching him.
"How's Angel?" He asked, ignoring her gesture, but silently yearning for her touch.
"Sleeping. Still. The… doctors say it's normal. But… Giles isn't that optimistic." Buffy sighed and gave in, her head falling on Spike's shoulder and her hand tangling in his. "I don't know what scares me most; that you almost died, or that you're still alive to have almost died."
Spike gave a small chuckle that quickly turned into a coughing fit.
"The doctors said to take it easy, there's still poison in your lungs and veins. Even after all the treatments they've done." She fell silent, her fingers gently caressing Spike's palm, waiting for Spike to talk.
"Buffy, you know we can't be together, right?" Spike asked, finally breaking the silence.
"I know. Just… let me dream, please? You're here. You barely made it out of L.A. and… it still hurts. I'll leave you alone afterwards, I promise. Just let me dream?"
Spike smiled and closed his eyes. Dreaming of what could have been wouldn't hurt anyone. As long as it was just a dream.
***
... 
(Spike/Angel, 300 words)
"Hey."
Angel tried to open his eyes, but quickly gave up as pain shot through his head. "Where are we?"
Spike brought the chair closer to Angel's bed and grabbed his hand. "Council of Watchers facilities in Bath." Anticipating Angel's next question, Spike continued. "They got us out about five minutes after the dragon went down on us. Didn't get to finish the fight."
Angel nodded slightly, that simple movement bringing pain to his back and neck. "What happened to…"
"Illyria's ok. Charles… didn't make it. They got his and Wesley's bodies downstairs waiting for you and I to decide what to do with them." Spike bit his lip and looked away. "They wanted to send Wesley's body to his family, but Buffy and Giles intervened and told them we were his only family and that we should be given the right to decide where to bury him. Helped that his father didn't want anything to do with him."
Angel felt a single tear escaping his eyes and he squeezed Spike's hand.
Spike turned to the bedside table and with his free hand, picked up the glass of water the nurse had left there after her last visit. "Here, drink this." He held the glass to Angel's lips and waited patiently for Angel to drink.
"Thank you Spike."
"Never thought I'd see the day…"
Angel chuckled and finally managed to open his eyes. Spike's face was badly bruised, and the spark had gone from his eyes. A spark Angel had always resented, but now that it was gone, he wanted it back. "Where are you?"
"Here. With you. I'm not going anywhere." You're all I have left. Spike bit his lips again.
"Good." Angel smiled, closed his eyes, and squeezed Spike's hand one last time. And only then he slept.
/the end.
"O Do Not Love Too Long"
W.B. Yeats
Sweetheart do not love too long:
I loved long and long,
And grew to be out of fashion
Like an old song.
All through the years of our youth
Neither could have known
Their own thought from the other's,
We were so much at one.
But O, in a minute she changed –
O do not love too long,
Or you will grow out of fashion
Like an old song.
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