Author: Blackbirch
Title: Times moves on without us
Rating: R
Fandom: Angel & Buffy series
Summary: How do you continue to exist and find a place for you in life, when you no longer have someone to connect with? — A Spike and Angel point of view on life years after Not Fade Away. When people around them age and die, and they are left alone outside of everything.
Wordcount: 3016 words
Pairing: Spike/Angel(us), Spike/Xander
Warning: character death, angst-ish
Archive: No.
Disclaimer: All characters are copyright of their originators. No infringement intended, no profit made.
Feedback: Yes please. Any kind (good or bad) you can give me.
Story Notes:
written for LiveJournal community summer_of_spike. Beta’d by minxfic
Originally posted 2006-02-08
I don’t want you here, Spike. Please leave. Please understand.
It was words that wouldn’t leave him alone. Words creating a black hole inside that just seemed to grow with every minute as the dark blue rental car took him further and further away from home. Not so much the place as the person. He had been Spike’s home for many years now. There would no longer be any warm hands making him burn, caressing and tickling and making him laugh — made him feel safe. And loved. No longer the gaze on him, the voice whispering in his ear on those late nights in bed, the soft puffs of breath at the nape of his neck. The kisses that tasted like chocolate, spice and his human. His Xander.
Every second time ticking on, turning the days into the past… spending time, spending youth. He didn’t want Spike around anymore. It hurt too much he’d said. It was no longer blamed on his fragile body that developed new aches every passing year, neither the looks nor comments that had been voiced in shadows about their age difference before they moved again and Xander got old enough that the whispering suspicions stopped. If they really knew… No, what finally broke Xander was his memory and the way it started to waver. He mixed past and present, forgetting things… more than usual and it could no longer be blamed on having a brain made of Swiss cheese, the jokes falling flat to the ugly truth.
His body was still darkened by sun, still Xander-shaped but with less softness and grey hair at his temples. Creases from the early years of pain now mixed with the latest years of laughter around his eyes, and the whitened scar around his empty eye. He hadn’t bothered with an eyepatch for years now and the socket was sunken but not ugly, just empty. In Spike’s eyes he could never be ugly, he loved every part of him, but Xander refused to accept that love more and more now. Nothing was as it used to be, the closeness seemed to grate on Xander and Spike had learned to mask his face when the aches and pains turned into grimaces and muffled groans. He had learned that commenting or offering help only turned into a fight, fights that seemed to increase as well as Xander’s ‘I’m fine’. That nowadays they slept alone, even if they shared the same bed.
He would have made a great vampire with his lust for life, it was still an option to Spike but Xander’s no had never wavered then, nor did it now. He didn’t want to be turned. That was something he’d made Spike promise. Love for Spike was never the question, Xander had plenty of that. Instead he didn’t have enough love for life itself that he wanted to be nearly immortal. He wanted a ‘past due date’. There has to be an end, Xander had said, when all will finally have been said and done and there’s only oblivion, and peace.
Spike still winced when the words played out inside his head. Xander’s voice had been shaky with dark cynicism and a bit of fear; peace and oblivion comes in many ways.
It would be long before there would be peace, and oblivion would come with small steps creating agony at first. Oh how he hated this, but he wasn’t allowed to do anything about it. Xander had said that if he wanted a way out he’d call, there were still months to go before he’d be really sick. Before Xander would be gone, turned into a shell that wouldn’t even remember its own name.
Yeah, just didn’t want Spike around to watch the damage being done.
Spike bit down hard to stop the scream from spilling out. Instead he drove his car off to the side of the road, lifted his cellphone and punched in a number with shaky hands. The calm ‘Hello’ broke him with its familiar voice.
“He made me leave. He said he didn’t want me there any more.”
“Spike?”
“I… I don’t know what to do.” It was impossible to stop the whine as he heard it clear in his own voice. Weak, sad and bloody useless once again, no matter how much he tried to build up the walls… family always shattered them with kindness.
“Come home. Come home Spike.”
He crumbled against the car door, clutching the phone close to him as the finality of it all struck him, he’d left Xander to die in peace and was welcomed home by his old enemy, hated and loved and now the only family he had left.
—–
It was strange to hear his voice on the other end of the phone, it had been so long since he heard his voice. There had been occasional communications over the years, Spike letting Angel know he and Xander were still around and which town they were living in at the moment. Angel replying the e-mails to let them know he was still amongst the … if not living at least existing. Angel had lost almost everyone at that last fight, and turned away from the rest. He shut down, it was too much to realise he’d been awarded with nothing but the continuance of his unlife. He still held vigilance over Connor, but he seemed to grow as a normal boy and turn into a man, change before Angel’s eyes while he still was the same. Always the same and he feared the time he would have to watch his son die from something so simple and inevitable as age. It made him keep to himself even more. Spike on the other hand couldn’t help himself, Angel knew that, there was too much life in the younger vampire to shy away from life and hide in the dark corners. He’d always devoured life, appreciating change and taking part in it. Angel liked better to watch from the sidelines. He wasn’t surprised when Spike left; there wasn’t room for anyone else with Angel’s constant self-flagellation and misery.
He had been surprised though when he’d heard from Buffy, on the rare occasions they called each other, that Spike and Xander were a couple. The Scoobies no longer existed, not as before — things had changed too much with the Cleveland Hellmouth and new-born Slayers all over the world to keep them separated. The friendship was still there, but it was no longer dependant, or in need of each other as before and they rarely met. But the habit to call in occasionally to know you were still alive never broke.
It was nice to know someone amongst them were happy and together. But it wasn’t of course to last. Humans grow old, and we don’t, leaving us behind. Age was different than sudden death; accidents or dying at the hands of someone else wasn’t something new and in one way it was easier to deal with. Age left you no one to blame, no one but the human not taking what was offered and receive immortality. And that hurt more, because you couldn’t hate them for not wanting to turn into a monster, you knew that in your head. But not everything can be explained, some things are just felt.
Spike and him would never be friends, they’d stay in a circle of love and hate and family, feelings changing as the spokes on a wheel turning with time. For now it was love and family and a place for him to hide and maybe seek comfort. Spike needed somewhere to go. Someplace where he wasn’t the only freak that didn’t age, that healed every wound… that wasn’t affected by time.
—–
Touching had never been part of the plan. But with that first chilled hand on his lonely skin it was as if he couldn’t stop asking for more. To let it wash out the memory of a warm body, hot hands and skin with a burning flame inside. He ached for this punishing touch to remake him, make him forget… stop this longing ache and turn into something else.
Spike hadn’t had time to rebuild the walls. He’d been too happy, too lax in the heat of that gaze and warmed touch. The babble and laughter sparkling around him — that had been his days for so long now. He had forgotten what it was like, to be alone. But he’d never had his soul be so happy and then shunned, making it so alone that anything is welcomed. Not even Angelus’ abandonment had hurt like this, not in the same way.
He cannot explain it, how he can betray Xander like this. But that other voice inside, the devil hiding in his bones, says you were betrayed first. Take it, use it, and let him bleed you open and clean. Into something new, no longer beholden to human warmth and soft touch. It’s almost frightening the vivid need to be hurt, to be teased, grasped and bleeding and taken beyond borders of sanity. Where there’s nothing existing but hands holding, stroking, grabbing and forcing thought and presence out of his mind. Driving him mad with need to the place where there’s nothing but whimpers and pleads, broken and begging. Filled with heat burning inside, filling him to the brim and aching to find a place to be released, to be let go and to blow the top of his head with it’s fisted release.
Teeth sinking into his skin, marking, tasting and demanding him. A punishment in colours. Red for desire bleeding out on his skin, tracing the contours of straining muscles slick with sweat. Black for closed eyes and blindfold, darkness hiding him from himself, only to feel what he cannot see. White in the blinding wave as he’s allowed release, as he’s ordered to come and bend to his master’s rule.
—–
Loneliness is such a special thing. When it’s not by choice it aches in empty places, places that used to be filled by voices, by friends, by touch. That is what makes you lonely. Alone though, by choice is so different. Sometimes you can crave time off, respite from everything, to hear nothing but silence and just enjoying your own company. When there are no expectations, no commitments to follow, no responsibilities.
Spike never was much for the chosen variety. He liked noise, the chatter of people around him, or just the sound of beating hearts and pumping blood. He took what he could and there had definitely been years of being alone amongst company, because the company made him out to be the fool and ignored him. It had been a long time since he felt like the fool. Since he felt misplaced and not belonging anywhere.
The nights spent in Angel’s bed were the only times he felt he belonged, where he knew he was wanted and where he forget even for a little while. They were too different outside the bed; Angel longed for the quiet and for Spike the quiet was too much. It made things feel empty, because he was used to the silence being filled with a heartbeat, with movements and voices. It made him antsy, made him become that fledgling again — continuously pushing to get attention and wind Angel up till he got what he needed.
He wanted the punishments, the pain, to be made to feel and no longer able to hear his own thoughts. To stop the memories of a warm hug, laughter and tears that he could lick off roughened cheeks and softer skin, tasting cinnamon and sweat. Didn’t want that wizened body to be what he saw behind closed eyelids, the marblestone made into a crooked tree-stump, to know that his last goodbye was said to someone who was scared and didn’t have any memory left to be able to understand he was dying.
—–
“God, Spike why do you do this to yourself?” Why do you let me do this to you? Angel slowly wiped the cloth over bloodied skin, making Spike hiss as he gently tried to go around the deep slashes.
“Cause I need it. I need the pain. I need to forget… and remember.”
“This only makes things worse you know.” Spike wasn’t the only one who felt he was slipping. Being alone and outside of everything had kept Angel disconnected and there was no longer anyone around to tell him he was going too dark, or diving too deeply into memories and the way things used to be. It was easy to mix past and present with Spike around begging to be hurt, to be bruised and be made his.
“So what if it does? I just… fuck off Angel and leave me be if it’s too much for you. Never used to be a problem to hurt me before, now was it?” Spike sat up and pushed him away, trying to get out of bed but was stopped by Angel’s hand gripping his arm. “Spike … Before was different and you know it. Angelus and I aren’t the same.”
Spike sneered at Angel, and shook his arm free, “So you’re too souled up now to understand? So far away from it all, sitting in your ivory tower watching us repeat our mistakes over and over again? Because you don’t do mistakes anymore? Too good you are for the likes of me. I can never be you Angel. I can’t just keep it all on the inside. Sometimes I just need the soul beaten out of me. It hurts too much inside, so I take the pain outside.”
Angel heard the voice break at the end, just a little but he knew Spike so well by now that he knew the feelings he tried to hide. Losing Xander had made something shift inside Spike, made the soul worse for all the love they’d shared, and when things got too much Spike either sought oblivion in the bottle or in pain.
—–
Angel could see the wheel turning in front of his eyes, and nothing he could do to stop it. The way they grated on each other’s nerves, on how the pain became so much more in between them than the comfort that they had sought out. Spike didn’t want to be held, comforted and just be. He wanted to be fucked, pounded into the bed, chained to the wall, to exhaust themselves to the point of no dreams.
It was easy to see through, but impossible to talk to. He behaved like an utter brat every time he tried to talk to him, with ‘poofter’ and ‘wanker’ flying around more than usual. Except the times when Angel used Xander’s name and he just went still, sharp as ice and unreachable. The look he’d give Angel those times spoke volumes, “Don’t you dare talk about Xander, don’t even mention his name to me.”
—–
Angel was sure he was going to wake up one morning alone for good, they hardly slept together anymore. They fucked, they bit and tore and snarled but never slept and Angel often woke up on his side in an empty bed. The wheel had soon run its course and they’d separate again for God only knew how long. It was as things were, simple as that. Didn’t mean he wanted to accept it this time. He’d been alone before Spike, but it wasn’t until Spike showed up he realised he’d been lonely. Life was different with someone around… even if all they did was fight or fuck.
One morning as he entered the kitchen the first thing he noticed was Spike staring at a glass of scotch before gulping it down so quick and sloppily it dribbled down his chin. “I’d say you’ve achieved your daily goal to get drunk already Spike, when you can’t even find your own mouth to pour it in.”
“No shit mate. I’ve worked hard to get here”, an unsteady hand pushed a bottle hard enough that it fell and brought others with it in a clanking glassy noise, “now piss off so I can enjoy it.”
“Why don’t you piss off? Why are you still here?” Angel’s hand slammed hard into the kitchen table, rattling the still standing glasses. Spike stood up so fast that the chair tumbled to the floor with a heavy sound of wood, “Cause I have no where else to go you bastard! And you fuckin’ know it.”
Their eyes locked and Angel was so close to lean over the table and smash Spike’s face in, to feel his fist connect and the satisfaction of hearing Spike’s grunt of pain. He realised that he pictured blood already running down that pale face, and he reared back in revulsion over what they had made each other into. “What the hell are we doing here Spike? Huh? Can you tell me ’cause I sure as shit don’t know.”
“Existing mate, that’s all we can do.” Spike’s anger seemed to have run out of fuel and he leaned hard on the table, his legs unsteady and his eyes shifting, avoiding on settling anywhere.
“Yeah? Well I want more, dammit. I want more than memories and life passing by as I stand aside and watch. I’ve holed up so long that soon no one will know who I am; I’ll go back to being that shadow of a thing in between.” Angel’s voice turned into a mere whisper, “Not here nor there. I don’t want that again.”
“You want the friggin’ cliché Angel? Want me to tell you that I’ll be here? We can’t stand each other most of the time, remember?” Spike’s hands were unsteady as he lit a cigarette, hiding his emotions with a conscious habit.
Angel looked up, his eyes so dark they were almost black. “I’d rather have hate than nothing.”
“Yeah well, anything’s better than nothing innit?”
“For now…”
Spike looked up and they locked eyes again, but this time not in anger but maybe common ground, “For now.”
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