Had we been patient, dear! Had you waited,
I had fought death for you, better than he;
But from the very first, dear! we were fated
Always to disagree.
Late, late, I come to you, now death discloses
Love that in life was not to be our part:
On your low-lying mound between the roses,
Sadly I cast my heart.
- Ernest Dowson
"I knew you'd come," he
said.
"Did you?" his companion crept closer, but not to stand
at the side of the blond man. Instead, he knelt, and traced the
letters of her name carved on the tombstone. "Buffy Anne
Summers...I always wondered why she was named Buffy."
"It suited her," the blond said.
"It did." He reached inside his leather jacket and
dropped a single white rose, perfect in its pristine beauty, onto
the fresh-turned soil of the grave. "White roses suited her
too."
"No!" the other man jerked suddenly, his long leather
coat flapping in his agitation. "RED roses, Angel...as red
as her blood!"
He held one out and deliberately dropped it beside the white one.
The two faced each other then... staring into enemy eyes.
"I came here to kill you," Angel said at last, his
voice conversational. "I should have done it long ago,
but..."
"But you needed someone to take your broken toy off your
hands," Spike said sarcastically.
Angel's head reared back. "You WANTED to care for Drusilla,
Spike. Don't you put that on me. You wanted it!"
"Yes, I know." The blond turned away to study the
tombstone once again. "I used to say she was like a child;
but it was I who was the child...afraid to be alone in the
dark."
"Is that why you killed Buffy?" Angel asked quietly.
"So that Dru would return to you?"
Spike shrugged, and smiled. "That was the intention. I
couldn't get Dru back in the usual way. She seemed to think that
Acathla deal with Buffy meant I was nurturing a hidden passion,
or some rot like that. She asked me to kill the Slayer to prove
my love."
"And you did." Angel nodded, his suspicions confirmed.
"How did you get close to her, Spike? By pretending
friendship?"
"Friendship?" For one incredulous instant Spike nearly
laughed aloud. Then he regained control.
"No, Angel, we could never be friends, the Slayer and I. We
could fight; and we could hate each other till it made us quiver;
and we could shag..."
The blow took him unaware; he reeled across the cemetery and
landed flat on his back.
"But, we could never be friends," Spike finished,
unphased. He got to his feet and faced his adversary.
Angel was breathing hard. "I'll never believe...that she
loved you. Not the way that she loved me!"
"No, not that way," Spike agreed. "You were a
childish crush, Angel, no more. But I...she loved me like a
woman. She made me feel things, and see things, I have never
known."
"You killed her for it," Angel accused.
"Killing the Slayer is what I was always fated to do,
Angel," Spike said softly.
"Now, you'll return to Dru, your vendetta accomplished," Angel continued, "you'll go on as you did
before."
"Will I?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrows. "I
thought you intended to kill me?"
"I did," Angel considered him thoughtfully.
"But...I think I won't, Spike."
"All talk, Angel?" Spike said contemptuously.
Angel smiled secretively. "No, Spike, I want you to
learn...to find out what it's like to live without her. Forever.
Think about that."
"You think I'll miss her, do you?" Spike lit a
cigarette.
"I know you will." His Sire's voice held utter
certainty. "You won't get to see her smile, or cry, or pout.
You'll never watch her fighting beside you, or dancing with her
warm body pressed against yours. You'll never touch her
again."
"Stop, stop, you're breaking my heart." Spike blew a
mocking smoke ring.
Angel shook his head. "No, Spike, you're the one who's done
that; you just don't know it."
He paused, then added, "Yet."
He turned to walk away. "It's like I told you once before,
Spike...to kill this girl, you've got to love her. And now,
you'll find out exactly how much you've lost. I don't envy you
the lesson."
Spike watched him stride swiftly from the graveside; and his
fingers relaxed their grip on the stake in his pocket. He'd meant
to use it on Angel, get rid of him once and for all; but he'd
changed his mind once Soul Boy had started yammering about how
horrible it was, living without Buffy.
Spike really didn't want to spare his Sire one minute of that
suffering.
Laughing, he flung the wooden stake as far as he could. Pity to
waste it, but it had already served him well against Drusilla;
and why should he take any chances now?
Now...when everything he'd ever wanted was within his reach?
Somewhere a clock chimed midnight; and Spike made himself
comfortable on her grave.
It would not be long now.
He laughed again, thinking of Angel's ranting. That wanker never
could get it through his head that other people weren't as thick
as planks; as if Spike couldn't have figured all that out
himself...and had...long ago!
He heard it then...that faint sound he'd been listening for.
Below him, something was stirring...waking up.
Spike picked up the roses; and waited for his fledgling to break
through.
