Fanfic: Bygone (1/1)

[smokingmirror]

Title: Bygone
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Angel/Buffy, Angel/Spike
Spoilers: To Shanshu In L.A.
Summary: Spike watches Angel
Word Count:
Date First Posted: -
Date Revised - 10-05-2011
Beta: -
Awards: -
Notes: Spike POV. Improv fic - vanilla, ocean, cotton, sympathy.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.

I watch him.

The sun kisses his marblesque skin, tainting its pale, perfect surface for the first time in centuries. He tilts his head towards the light, eyes closed, an expression of what I recognise as ecstacy gracing his features.

The smell of salt carries on the gently blowing ocean breeze. It dances between each needle of the pine trees, sometimes just forcefully enough to dislodge one, sending it floating to earth.

The day is glorious, or so I would imagine it to be described if I could experience it properly. I shield my eyes from the glare of scalding rays and refocus them on the reason I am out risking my neck in the daytime.

I watch him.

He holds his arms out and rejoices in the noise of the sea crashing in his ears, and the noise of his heart beating in his chest.

Rejoices in the feeling of sand between his toes, and the warm, feminine figure within his reach. He reaches for her, enfolding her tiny form within his arms. Nurturing and cradling and loving. I know from personal experience this is what he puts into his embraces.

I watch him.

His white cotton shirt whips about his sculpted muscles, as her matching dress does the same about her legs. Matching clothes. How perfect.

He puts his nose to her hair, no doubt taking in her sweet-smelling shampoo. Vanilla, I believe. Once scented, it is impossible to forget.

Probably why he went straight back. Once... once he found out.

I watch him.

I want to feel angry, or violent. Failing that, I would even settle for feeling sympathy towards him -- he will no longer live forever, he will no longer stay eternally youthful. He will die old, wrinkled, and decrepit.

His face breaks out into a smile as he caresses a bronzed bare arm, and I wish to have these familiar, comfortable emotions. I would give anything to feel that clear, cold rage that has sustained me for so long.

Instead, what I am saddled with is just as familiar, but not nearly as satisfying. Hurt. Disappointment. Defeat. Fear. Yes, fucking fear.

I watch him.

And I know I don't want him to die. I don't want him to live. This is his reward? What about me? Does anyone care about the wayward children he created? He had love for each and every one, no matter how twisted by evil teachings, the intention of love was behind each one of us.

Behind me.

And what am I now, if not his legacy? His fucking responsibility? His forgotten love?

The only children he'll be concerned with now are the ones he'll create the old fashioned way.

Forgotten...

I watch him.

He is probably experiencing his precious 'perfect happiness' right now. The smile on her face mirrors the ones on mine in the memories currently taunting me. They weave seductive pictures before my eyes, effectively blurring the truth that stares me in the face.

But I was never one to lie to myself for very long.

I watch him.

And the pain in my own chest is so unbearable, I turn away. I physically can't stand to watch this right now. My loss is still a shock to my system, and it aches with a magnitude I have never experienced before. The despair at losing him a first time... losing my princess... losing my ability to hunt... have well and truly been eclipsed by him being snatched away from me right out from under my nose... but instead of leaving...

I watch him.

He smiles.

And a part of me dies with his fledgling life.

I watch him.

And I know I will follow him until his last day, or mine. Whichever should come first. I retreat further into the shadows of this block of flats. I seek the comfort of darkness in this world of light. But I don't take my eyes off him.

I watch him.

 

I'll always watch him.

~finis