Apparitions in Blue

The voices, they never desist. Awake, asleep, it doesn’t matter, they are always there, whispering and screaming of past pain and future torment. He can no longer remember why he had done what he did, accepting this gift, this demon in an angel’s guise. His soul. It scorches and scratches and never ceases in its persecution.

The tavern is dark and loud, much like his mind and his mood, and Spike blends into the shadows perfectly. He is the almighty battle between good and evil, personified, and yet no one takes any notice. He wonders how much longer this crusade will rage on, and whether anyone will ever see what he’s become. He wonders if anyone will ever be able to make the voices stop. He wonders why he’s found the spark if there is no candle to light.

Like a ghost I'll need a key
I've come to thee

Glancing around the dim tavern, Spike catches a flash of red. It’s a flash that is all too familiar, and immediately floods his mind with memories that he isn’t quite ready to extract. He can’t say that he’s entirely surprised to see her here. He has heard vague accounts of what went down after he left, of her witch’s death, her vengeful destruction, and the aftermath that followed. He knew that Giles had brought her here, to England, but he had no idea what she was doing in an establishment like this.

He sees her walked toward him and knows, just like the rest of the patrons, she hasn’t seen him. He’s glad of this. Spike doesn’t want to be found. He doesn’t want to explain and he doesn’t want to atone. He simply wants to wallow until the whiskey or the voices obliterate him…whichever comes first. This is why his next course of action surprises the vampire so much.

And please don't think of getting up for me
You don't even need to speak

“Red.” The word is spoken quietly, softly, in a foreign tone, but he knows she hears it, and watches as her head turns slowly, a look of complete shock on her face. He can’t help but smile slightly. Same old Willow. Even with the darkness and the power…and there is no mistaking that this girl now has power. She radiates dark, strong power like he’s never felt from a witch, and he wonders at just how much has been left out of the stories that he’s heard. Even now…she’s still the same Willow. Her heart, however torn and bloody, is still pinned to her sleeve for all to see, her expressions open, like a book waiting to be read, though now her once bright eyes are dull and pain-filled.

“Spike?” Her own voice is nothing more than a whispered response, and the redhead can’t quite believe that she’s actually seeing the blond before her. It feels like an eternity since she left Sunnydale, and she wonders at what he’s doing in this tavern, in this town, in this country, on this night. An anguished pang runs through her at the thoughts and memories flooding her mind at the mere sight of him, and her eyes briefly dart around the bar in search of a quick escape. She wants nothing more than to run and hide. She wants nothing more than to find a deep, dark hole for which to crawl into and never emerge from. She wants nothing more than to turn away and never look upon the blond again. This is why her next course of action surprises the witch so much.

When I've been here for just one day
you'll already miss me when I go away

Spike motions for the redhead to join him in the dimly lit booth, and she does so, albeit hesitantly. She watches him with weary eyes, as if waiting for a wild animal that is about to attack, and knowing that she is too weak to fight it off. She looks as though she’s been to hell and back, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that she has been. She looks older, and perhaps a little wiser, though Spike has been around long enough to know that being around a while doesn’t necessarily lead to being more intelligent. He was certainly proof enough of that.

Willow can feel the difference in him almost immediately. She can feel what the soul feels. It hits like a tidal wave, and she tries to block it. She’s getting better at that. At first, all the emotions were so overwhelming. Giles had explained that it would take a while for that to wane, but Willow had never been known for her patience.

She doesn’t mention the soul, but she knows that he knows that she knows. It’s painfully obvious. She also suspects that he knows at least something about what’s happened with her, but he doesn’t seem to be saying much about it, and for that she’s eternally grateful. The redhead is forever indebted to Giles and the women at the coven for their help in her recovery, but the constant acknowledgement of what she is, what she’s become, and the fear that she causes…Willow thinks much more of it might slowly kill her.

The vampire and witch sit across from one another, neither bothering to fain so much as a smile, both knowing that their dirty secret is out, but that it will remain in the shadows for the time being. There is a certain sense of camaraderie felt by both, even without anything being said. There is a connection, a current flowing between them. It’s almost tangible, and neither can fully explain the energy they feel drawing them in toward the other.

“I killed people,” she suddenly whispers.

Spike arches an eyebrow before responding. “I’ve killed hundreds,” he tells her. Somehow, this doesn’t alleviate her pain or guilt, nor does it provide him with the sense or superiority that his tone would imply.

“I tried to kill my friends,” she confides.

Spike waves his hand dismissively. “That lot? Nearly everyone has tried to kill them. Only fair that you have a go at it.”

Willow attempts a grin at his joke, though it appears as more of a wince, and Spike isn’t entirely sure that it’s not, leaving him immediately regretful of his words. They both look down at their glasses, half empty and calling to them, inviting them to drown their sorrows for at least a short time.

So close the blinds and shut the door
You won't need other friends anymore

“I didn’t expect it to feel like this,” he suddenly confides, in a quiet, hoarse voice, choking on his own words.

Willow looks at him with morose compassion, wishing she could somehow alleviate his pain. Reaching an arm out, she tentatively places a hand over his, and both sets of eyes flitter closed as they feel a spark, and they both sense a strange, healing calm take over.

When Willow finally pulls her hand away, they both look toward the other with wide, surprised eyes. Spike opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again, at a complete loss for words. Willow simply nods. Nothing needs to be said.

Oh, don't leave home
Oh, don't leave home

Finally, the redhead breaks the silence. “I miss them,” she tells him, her voice catching in her throat. Spike nods, as if sympathetic, though they both know that he is not. A soul, after all, is great for bestowing guilt, but compassion was never part of the package. Besides, self-pity is a much more familiar emotion for Spike.

“I hurt the girl,” Spike tells her. Willow nods. She understands, though she doesn’t feel the anger or empathy she suspects that she is supposed to. After all, if one is completely consumed with their own misery and pain, how can she possibly take on even a drop of someone else’s?

“You can’t hurt me,” she whispers, reaching out and touching his hand again. This time, there is no spark. That portion of the healing has passed, and they have already both moved onto the next phase. She watches his face for a moment, waiting for a response, and after receiving none, she finally lets her eyes drop to the table, pulling her hand away.

Spike reaches out, grasping her fingers firmly in his, and Willow glances up again, a look of sheer hope and pain on her face.

“I can hurt you, Willow,” he tells her sincerely, his memories and emotions welling up inside, ready to burst forth like an erupting volcano, and no less deadly or destructive.

Willow shakes her head. “There’s nothing left to hurt,” she tells him. It’s true, too. You can’t rip out the inside of that which is hollow, and she knows that right now she is nothing more than a shell of what she used to be. Just a Willow-shaped chalk outline, that refused to stay plastered to the stone floor.

The blond vampire reaches a hand up, caressing her cheek softly with rough fingers. Willow flinches slightly, immediately guilt stricken at the look of pain on his face from her action. It isn’t him, it’s her, and that isn’t just the usual line. She hasn’t been touched in months. Even Giles avoids coming into direct contact with her, and she can’t say that she blames him, but what she wouldn’t give for a big, tight Xander-snuggle or an air-constricting slayer-embrace, and she doesn’t think she would be saying no right about now to a vampire’s hug, were she so fortuitous.

And if you're cold, I'll keep you warm
And if you're alone just hold on
cause I will be your safety

Willow isn’t exactly sure of how it happens, but she suddenly finds herself standing, walking, her hand held tightly by another as they make their way out into the cool, damp night. The minute they exit the stifling bar, she inhales deeply, not quite able to get a deep enough breath, and the redhead feels almost as if she’s drowning, trapped just below the surface and not able to pull her head above the water. Her lungs feel as if they are about to burst and she clutches at her chest with her free hand, feeling suddenly dizzy, just before her back collides with a cold, hard wall.

Oh, don't leave home

Spike pins the slight girl against the wall, leaning into her warm frame, inhaling her scent. He hovers near her neck, listening to the blood rush through her veins, her heart pounding within the hollow cavern below. This will be his demise, wrapped in his salvation. To be so close but to never possess. To survive on essence alone, but to be destroyed by the liability. To long for and lust after, but forever be denied.

And I arrived when you were weak
I'll make you weaker, weaker still

“You smell of strawberries and rain,” he whispers into her hair.

Willow’s body becomes suddenly tense and ridged; her hands halting in their journey across his back, her fingers digging in tightly, and Spike can’t help but wonder what he’s done wrong. He goes to step away, ready to begin a barrage of apologies. He should never have touched…doesn’t have the right…not this girl, but he is stopped by her arms, still tight around him, unyielding. She shakes her head, seeing that he is about to slip from this momentary lucidity, and she refuses to allow it. She is not ready to lose him yet. He can hear her ragged breath, and feel the pain and sorrow pouring from her, and the vampire finds himself suddenly grateful to feel an anguish that is not his own.

“Not strawberries,” she whispers, her watery eyes closing tightly as she holds him to her, desperate to keep him as close as possible, urgent in the need to feel him there. Her head shakes back and forth as she repeats the words again and again, a despondent incantation. “Not strawberries, no more, not strawberries, no more.”

“Will? Willow,” he calls to her, his voice distant in the haze of her nebulous mind. She feels him cup her face in his hands and looks up, apologetic eyes meeting his. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. She was supposed to comfort him, selfish distraction from her own discontent. And she could, too, she knew. He was nothing like her girl had been. He was hard and cold. There was nothing warm or soft about him, except for his eyes, and she told herself that she could avoid those if need be.

But then he had to speak, and say those words, and bring it all flooding back, and suddenly the witch was wrenched painfully into to the present, her temporary anesthetic gone, the numbing effects giving way to a stinging tingle over her skin.

“I’ve been so bad,” she whispers hoarsely against his chest.

Spike nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. It isn’t him, it’s her. It’s never him, he realizes, but this time he supposes that it’s alright.

“No worse than the rest of us, Love,” he tells her, his voice raw with emotion, and she can’t help but look up into those soft, warm eyes. He knows, he understands. He’s been here. He’s walked in these shoes, and she suddenly realizes that this is all she needs to know. This is all she has been searching for and everything she could beseech of the world.

He sees the sudden look of longing and lust, and…something else, and the vampire takes a startled step back. She knows what he’s seen, and what he’s mistaken it for.

“Spike,” she whispers. “I’m not asking for everything. Just you, tonight. Just allow me to give myself to you.”

Now all your love you give to me
when your heart is all I'll need

Pulling his face down to hers, she brushes her lips softly against his. It’s a ghost of a kiss, reflecting the apparition of what they both once were. He runs his tongue along her lips before biting softly. Willow gasps, opening herself to him, and he plunges in deep, taking all he can get, and giving just as much. Her grip on him tightens as she pulls him closer, as if she could pull him right inside of herself. For someone so empty, her passion seems endless and her enchantment is abundant. His arms, his hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, every bit of him fills her, burning through the wax and plaster, melting the scaffolding that holds her up, and reshaping it as something new.

Oh, don't leave home
Oh, don't leave home

She is familiar, and yet new. A hint of Sunnydale, but yet uniquely Willow, and Spike remembers a time when he had watched her, wondering what her skin would feel like, how her lips would taste. Her fingers tangle in his hair, and the vampire feels almost as if she is able to reach down into him mind, allowing him temporary relief from a century of horrific memories and twisted thoughts. Wrapping her tighter in his embrace, Spike feels eternally grateful for whatever magic she is weaving around him, and prays to a god that he has long since forsaken, in the hopes that he might never have to leave this shelter.

And if you're cold, I'll keep you warm
And if you're alone just hold on
cause I will be your safety

She shivers from the cold wind that whips around them, and he suddenly becomes aware of the biting cold. Stepping back, but not releasing her completely, he looks toward the girl with a questioning expression and she nods to the right, before leading him down the cobblestone street. Their walk is quick and silent, their embraced hands melting into one, and though he has no idea where she is leading him, he trusts her completely, and wonders if he should. Whatever happens tonight, he will surely be left reeling from, come dawn, and if the sun doesn’t destroy him, another broken heart certainly might.

Oh, don't leave home

Willow puts a finger to her lips as they enter the large home. He knows now where they must be…the Watcher’s. She leads him silently up the narrow staircase, and down a dark hallway, before pulling him into her room, thanking anyone that will listen for giving Giles the good sense to put her in a room at the opposite end of the house from his own.

For a moment, they both just stand in the dark, staring at one another. Nothing but a few rays of silver and blue moon light illuminate them, and it seems fitting to both that there should be no warmth in the room. There are no pretenses here. They both know there place in this. They both understand what they have to offer…comfort, solace, a moment’s reprieve.

At once, they both move toward the other, desperate to feel skin touching skin, lip touching lip, soul touching soul. Her touch burns him, leaving him feeling scorched as her hands travel up under his shirt, exploring the hard contours beneath. She feels his lips and tongue journey down her neck, causing her breath to catch in her throat when he passes over that one perfect spot. He grins against her shoulder and laps at her collarbone again, feeling her shudder against him. The silence between them as they kiss and caress seems oddly reassuring, and neither wishes to break the peace that they have created.

Oh how quiet, quiet the world can be
when it's just you and little me
Everything is clear; everything is new
So you won't be leaving

When finally, every last bit of clothing is removed, and every last inch of skin has been discovered, and there are no secrets left to hide, except those which have yet to make their names known, Willow feels the soft mattress beneath her back, as the blond vampire looms over her, his expression suddenly turning more serious and questioning.

She understands what he fears, and though she can not pretend that her valor is wholly her own, she smiles softly and nods, assuring him that this is exactly where she needs to be and that this is exactly what she needs to feel. With a slight, faint smile, the blond closes his eyes, just before filling her completely, her warmth overwhelming him, threatening to nearly swallow him whole. They immediately take up a rhythm, as if their bodies were created specifically for the other, already perfectly attuned. His movements and caresses remind her of how soft and loved she can feel, and her kisses and fondling holds the dreaded voices at bay, allowing the illusion of complete belonging to over take him.

And if you're cold, I'll keep you warm
And if you're alone just hold on
cause I will be your safety

When it’s over and done, they both lay nestled in one another’s arms, a tangle of limbs and blankets, alleviated fears and illusory memories. Spike knows that she believe that he has saved her from the night and the pain, but he knows that it is she that has rescued him, breathing life, however temporary, into his dead form. Tomorrow, they will return to their own bodies, their own lives, their own anguish and pain, but at least, for tonight, they remain as mere apparitions, drifting along, finding fragile comfort in a kindred soul.

Oh, don't leave home
because I will be your safety
I will be your safety
Oh, don't leave home