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He slept like the dead. Nothing moved, except the subtle twintch of fingers, and the light fluttering of eyelids.
To watch him sleep was to glimpse death himself, the final rest of a human. But he will dream, and he will wake back to the world. Still as death, the dreams still lingering. They always lingered, haunting, daunting him.
He could run all he wanted, but the dreams still followed him, two hundred years of carnage, mayhem and murder could not erase the imprint she had left on him. The only one true regret in a soulless demon's reign.
"William..."
Spike stirred in his sleep, groaning softly, and a light, beautiful laugh that reminded him of small, tiny bells filled the still air around him.
"William..."
Again the voice.
The voice was soft, stirring a thousand memories, a million feelings, a voice that spoke of many things.
The voice that reminded him of twilight, where the sweet innocence of day met the coming night, embracing it briefly, lovingly stroking its planes of night before it gave way to it.
A voice that sang of beauty, and smelt of fresh dew and night-blooming jasmine, a voice that spoke with him in a soft tone that reminded him of a barely remembered song, that no one could remember the name to...just a faith remembrance of a haunting tune.
He opened his eyes as the late afternoon sun washed over him, the golden beams caressing his pale skin with no harm. He watched as dust motes danced in the warm light surreally, smiling slightly.
He brushed his hands across the stiff blades of tall grass as he sat up, looking around a large field that seemed to disappear into the horizon, leading him on into forever, never ending. A veritable ocean of sweet-smelling dirt and rustling stalks.
A girl looked up towards him, the sunlight bathing her in a golden glow, making her seem out of focus, her long, curly, blood-red hair shining with an almost ethereal quality.
A pad of paper was settled on her lap, and he could hear the faint sounds of scratching as the charcoal she held in one small, white hand drew soft lines, barely skimming the paper.
He stood and made his way towards her, watching her hand dreamily as it drew, leaving black smudges on her fingers and on the sleeve of her old-fashioned white dress.
She smiled softly as he came closer, gesturing for him to sit before her. "What are you drawing, pet?" He asked, breaking the silence.
She only kept smiling, hiding the picture from his view as she continued to sketch.
Spike noticed a spot of blood on the high collar of her dress, marring the pure whiteness of it. She noticed his gaze, and looked sad as she touched the lace at her throat. "Blood never comes out."
Spike nodded slowly, glancing at his hands, which were covered in fresh, scarlet blood. When he blinked, it was gone. "No, luv...it never comes out," he agreed, rubbing his hands together absently, as if trying to wash off the phantom blood.
She watched him as she bent over her work, liquid, emerald green eyes peeking out from beneath black lashes. He felt like he was being laid bare beneath her piercing gaze, and shifted uncomfortably, taking his eyes off of hers to glance around the wide field.
She set aside her work, straightening her back as she looked around also. "This was a good place."
"I know," he muttered.
In front of him, an image flickered very briefly. The woman before him laughed at something a dark-haired man said, then it was gone.
"Not anymore, though."
"I know."
Will you kiss me?
She didn't speak, and her face wavered in his vision, and he frowned, "You know I can't."
She nodded slowly. "I know," she repeated his words back at him.
I'm afraid...
"You never were," Spike replied to the unspoken declaration. "Even...then...you weren't afraid."
"I was terrified," she smiled briefly, closing her eyes as she inhaled deeply.
I will not beg...you can do this till the end of the time...but I will never beg!
"You didn't," Spike smiled at her. "You would never beg."
"I did."
Please don't leave me...I need you...I love you...
"It was wrong."
"It was what I felt," she looked down at her blackened hands, turning them palms out as the blood welled. "It hurt more than this."
"I know...I was...foolish...I'm sorry..."
"You were always sorry," she slowly stood, the hem of her dress brushing against his black pants. He reached out to clasp it as she walked past him, but his fingers passed through her.
"Erin...please...not this again...you know..."
You only call me that when you're mad or when you want something...and you always want something...but it's never what I want...or need...
"I'm sorry..."
"I know," she whispered, closing her eyes again, then falling back on the grass, her arms out to her side.
Spike watched as the tips of the grass turned crimson, staining with blood that would wash away with the rain.
He stood up, picking up the pad of paper.
He stared down at a drawing of her, nailed to a cross, while he stood before her, hammer and long spikes in hand.
He shuddered, turning towards where she had fallen, already knowning what he would see.
It was the same as the picture, the same scene.
He stood before a large crucifix, a bruised and broken body lashed to it as he drove the last spike home, blood pouring out onto his arms as he worked dilligently, to the delight of the dark goddess beside him, and the dark man behind.
His hair was black, and his face was covered in a thin sheen of blood, and he laughed as he licked the nourishing droplets away.
Angelus came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder while Drusilla gripped his forearm.
"It's her turn to be the Watcher," Angelus smirked at the fallen Slayer, and she looked down on them, her eyes meeting his sadly, before closing as the trio cavorted in front of her final resting place.
Will you kiss me?
Red moisture covered his face as the sleeper awakened, and he stared up at a bleak, cheerless ceiling as blood tears dripped from his eyes.
Will you kiss me?