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| To Be or Not To Be |
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| Rating: G Award-Winner: Setting/Spoilers: Post-Chosen (7.22); AtS Season 5 Summary: Spike's return from his fiery doom ~ one way it could have happened. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To be or not to be, that is the question Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing, end them All the girls had gone, escaping up through the Seal and into the school. It was just Buffy and Spike. "Go on, then." "No! No, you've done enough! You could still --" There had been desperation in Buffy's voice. "No, you've beaten them back. It's for me to do the cleanup." Behind her a vast section of the cavern ceiling had collapsed inward, tons of rock crashing into the abyss. Faith was calling down frantically from the top of the stairs near the Seal. "Buffy, come on!" Taking one more look at Buffy, she'd leapt up into the school above. "Gotta move, lamb. I think it's fair to say, school's out for the bloody summer." "Spike!" "I mean it! I gotta do this." The light emanating from the amulet had flared even brighter and Buffy reached out to take Spike's hand in her own, entwining her fingers with his. A moment, and then both their hands burst into flame. She had ignored the fire and held his gaze with her own. "I love you." He had looked back at her, a flood of emotions pouring through him. Then, he'd smiled at her ironically. "No, you don't. But thanks for saying it." They'd shared one last look between them, two souls coming together as one at last, before the ground heaved beneath their feet and chunks of stone slammed down like bombs around them. "Now go!" Buffy had let go of Spike's hand and run up through the Seal. He had trembled with the intensity of the energy pouring through him, staring into the maelstrom of destruction in front of him and grinning sardonically, the same old Spike to the last. "I want to see how it ends." To die, to sleep no more And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to 'Tis a consolation devoutly to be wish'd He could remember the exquisite pain as the cleansing fire had consumed him. He could not pinpoint when it had stopped, or how, or what, exactly, had followed it. Just a gradual insensate nothingness, as near as he could determine. Now he seemed without form, but aware of all that had occurred. He floated: warm, safe and quiet. The word "fetal" occurred to him, and he decided it was apt to describe his sense of being enveloped in a cocoon of security and peace. He had no concept of time or place; of how long he might have been in this state, or of whether there was anyone or anything else within the reach of his consciousness. And he discovered that this didn't particularly bother him. For a time he was content to drift along in the pocket of well-being that surrounded him, and bask in the quiescence of the soul that had been so often in upheaval since its return to his corporeal self. To die, to sleep To sleep, perchance to dream, ay...there's the rub For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil must give us pause She would float up, from the depths of her slumber, to that place that could not easily be classified as either waking or sleeping. Awareness of morning, of light infiltrating the curtains, and of breezes playing in the treetops was clearly bleeding through from the outside world. But he was there, and that must make them dreams. Sometimes they walked hand-in-hand along a beach, the ocean curling around her bare toes, and his boots leaving deep impressions in the wet sand. Sometimes they were dancing on a terra cotta patio, lit by colored glass lanterns. She twirled and spun an impossible number of times, always returning to his arms, never fearing for her balance, her dizziness due to his presence rather than her giddy rotations. Once, they watched the sunrise from a porch swing, swaying gently together in the dewy coolness of dawn. Sometimes they spoke to one another: words she remembered from their long acquaintance, or that she now wished had been said but had not. Mostly, she just observed them together, as though an outsider. Yet she was always privy to the sensations and emotions that each of them was experiencing, omniscient to these vignettes that never were and never would be. Sometimes the scenes were mundane ~ cuddling on the sofa drinking hot chocolate; sometimes exotic ~ making love in a place that resembled a Turkish harem for all the pillows and tassels and gauzy hangings; sometimes tinged with the sadness of being on opposite banks of a river whose current made it impossible to cross, try though they might; and sometimes they would laugh at nothing at all, holding one another and reveling in purest joy. And then she would surface to full wakefulness, the intensity of her dream falling slowly away from her, until it became a barely-remembered impression. But for an instant, she would expect him to be within her reach, and she would put her hand where she thought he would be, and meet empty air. It was not her nature to analyze these moments deeply. She knew their meaning. "A dream is a wish your heart makes," went the song she'd sung in childhood. Spike. After the first few of these dreams, she had begun to write them down in a journal she kept in her bedside table. They faded so quickly and she wanted to hang on to as many details as she could. She filled many pages, but had never brought herself to read back through them. They were just too bittersweet. But maybe, one day, she'd know the time was right. Spike. Always he had aroused in her a tumult of emotions. Possibly she had felt every single thing that there was to feel about another person. Disdain. Fear. Pity. Revulsion. Curiosity. Passion. Need. Friendship. Jealousy. Love. Gratitude. She knew he had to do what he did. Looking back, she knew that they had all walked the paths appointed to the, falling down and picking themselves up as necessary. All leading to the moment of transcendence and sacrifice at the Hellmouth. She knew what that acceptance of his fate had meant for his journey, and did not wish it undone. She was now proud of the part she played. Not of all the actions that she had chosen to take that had hurt him, but proud that she could be part of something so much bigger than herself. She had been integral to his redemption, and the fact that he had achieved it awed her. No, she accepted why he was gone. But she missed all the moments that they would never have. Most of what she wished for in her sleep would never have happened anyway had he survived, but in his absence, they all became possibilities ~ possibilities unrealizable. She wished she had taken more time to just talk to him. About day-to-day nothingness-es. How long had he lived under her roof? They knew one another's habits and could finish each other's sentences. But, there was still so much that she would never find out. And she felt the loss keenly. One more hole in her heart that might heal, but whose scar she would carry for the rest of her days. ~ / ~ As he drifted, he would sometimes construct fantasies of times he would have liked to have spent with her. Days in the sun, moments of simplicity and companionship and love. He didn't miss her exactly. But he knew there were countless things he'd have liked to have shared with her. When he summoned her image forth, it became as tangible to him as if he were there, and it was happening to him. He still had no shape, but he could observe their interactions like a third party, experiencing every motion and sensation and feeling as though he inhabited both of their bodies at once. Not a terrible way to spend an eternity, he observed. |
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