Beams of Light: Of Dreams, Fears, and Death
by I Heart The Nerd Herd
The rain soaked through me, all the way to the chilled blood pumping uselessly away inside me. Sometimes I wish it would stop and I would die and it would be done... But wishing never helps. Never has, never will, never going to any time soon. I shivered, but shivering never helped to make you feel warm. It all threw you spiraling farther into the cold.

I continued to walk, numbly, just letting my body respond to hazy commands from my non-functioing brain. I closed my eyes and moved through the streets of Sunnydale, the ones I knew so well. I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t really care. I let my legs carry me to where ever I was going. I had trust there was a reason I was going there.

My eyes snapped open. I found myself in the middle of the factory. And for a second I wasn’t sure where I was. Or why I was there. But then, his vibes washed away all the questions. He was here and I had to kill him. But why? I didn’t kill Spike, I could have, I should have, but I didn’t. So, if there is reason to kill Angelus, there is more reason to kill Spike, and I can’t bring myself to make the easy motion of slamming a pointy piece of wood into his heart. And would I have the stregth to jam it through the heart of the first man I ever loved if I couldn’t even do it to a man I hated with every inch of my being? What could make me think I could do it? For this whole time. Was I just kidding myself?

“Angelus, I can feel you!” I yelled, startled by the power in my own voice.

“And I can feel you, Slayer. Swimming all around me. And it hurts, worse than you know. Pretending to love you was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done.” He stepped from behind the shadows, looking the same as always.

“That’s not true.”

“Believe it, if you want. I won’t stop you.”

“You sound like Spike.”

“I do, do I? How would you know?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Hmm, even Angelus who pretended to love me is jealous.” I stepped toward him, smiling. If I couldn’t beat him being myself, then I would have to be him. He most likely could be beaten by himself.

“Not jealous. Curious. Isn’t our Spike is a wheelchair with the side of his face all burnt up? And a vampire *without* a soul? I mean, I would find dating me more rewarding and good for your moral than Spike,” he said slowly, evenly. I had to admit, he was much better at this then me. But he’s had hundreds of years full of practice, I’ve had a meager seventeen years. Maybe I was better than him at seventeen, but their was no sure way of knowing.

“And you thought a good girl like me had morals, did you? I just don’t think I want another *heavy* relationship like ours again. You know, I loved you. But you weren’t a very good one in the bed, luv. I think I want something a little more worthwhile.” I inched closer to him, feeling the cold radiating of his dead body. It turned me on, not to feel the heat, the safety presented by a human body. That had always been my initial attraction to Angel, the danger. But I realize now, that it probably the safest love will ever be in my life. Love is more than an adventure, real strong, passionate love, is intense and leaves you shaking and sputtering in fear for... Who knows what, but it strips you down, leaves you and your emotions naked to your lover. And that is scarier than death, than anything I’ve ever faced before. I slid my lips against his ear. “I *need* something better.”

In a flash, I felt the cold, harshness of the ground against my back. I laughed, but the evilness I hoped was behind it wasn’t there. I couldn’t *pretend* to hurt him, I would never be able to do it. I realize that, now, but I can’t undo time. I can’t turn it back and say “Back up Buffy”. I’m going to have roll with the punches, which I’m sure I will have to, literally.

“DON”T SAY THAT!!!” he roared, stepping over me. I didn’t bother to get up, it was much better to stay down. Let him think he had the upper hand until I sent a boot heel against his cock, sending him flying backwards.

“Oh, but you can whisper all those nasty things in my ear? Make me feel like dirt? Got news for you, Angy, honey, not gonna happen anytime soon.” It took all my willpower to send him sprawling on his back, clutching the bulge in his leather skin tight pants.

He roared again and jumped to his feet with dizzinging speed, sending a slow, angry punch at my head. I grabbed his fist, bringing his arm down across my back with a loud, sickening snap. I thrust a knee against his head, watching a bruise form on the bridge of his nose and forehead. He fell to the ground, directing a leg kick my way, sending me crashing down on top of him.

“Em, baby, just the way I like it,” he cooed. And somehow, these words didn’t instill anger in me, but they instilled a sense of shame. I had slept with this creature. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I had been touched, fondled, loved, my something that wasn’t even alive. And I had returned that affection till it nearly did us both in. And here I stood, pretending I had done nothing and this creature just stole my boyfriend’s face. No such luck. I had ripped it off his face. That was something I could never be proud of.

“I can’t... No, this isn’t...” I got up, gave him a fleeting glance, I hope he took the right way, and ran, as fast as my legs could carry me. And for once in Angelus’ very long life, he had no cruel line to say to me.

When I stopped, clutching my chest, heart thudding so hard, I thought it might explode, I toppled against a dumpster to catch my breath. This all was a dream. My life had been the dream, the perfect dream. I should have known... I should have watched for it. Seen it come crashing down, seen the foundation crumble beneath my feet, and been able to hold up the pillars. But I had closed my eyes and cowered. Let it all beat down against my back. And cried.

Yeah, that was a dream too. One I would never like to recount, but had to keep living every second until I got Angel back... Or until Angelus was gone. And if it meant that this hell was over, I would rid myself of my first true love. Call it selfish, but I had to. I had to get out of here, claw my way until my claws were gone. And when that failed, I would struggle with every inch of me, until I was done. Until I died or I won. Call it a dream, I call it life.
*~*~*~*
The darkness fell in my gut. I could feel it thud in my stomach like a good meal. It felt heavy inside my head and it felt like a mother’s call, but I couldn’t properly respond. I couldn’t, because I had to sit on my arse, every second. Until my legs decided to move, if they ever decided to. If whatever God it taking care of me, decides I’m worthy, even if that takes a lifetime, it doesn't matter. I’ve lived out more than that God, I bet.

The chair, most would see it as a nuisance, maybe even some with their glasses so damn full would see it as a blessing, I see it as a prison. And who is jangling the key, as ever she is? Buffy. Likes to tease me, that girl. She is not what she seems. I see in her core, unlike her friends, her mother, even Angelus. I can see the dirt within, the craving to be bad. To go so far in herself, she finds out, she’s tearing herself apart inside out. She wants it and I want to take her hand and lead her to that place. But I’m not so sure she would go so far, yet. There will be a time, and I’ll be there, and I’ll have myself a really good day.

As if beaconed my thoughts, the Slayer stumbled in the factory. She had been coming here a lot. And yet, none of the dust sticking to the wheels of my chair belonged to Angelus. No matter how much I wanted it to be.

“Buffy, what are you doing here?” I wheeled over to her, wearing what I called my evil grin. The people that received it knew sometimes that’s not all it was for.

“Oh my God, is it the end of the world?” she smiled, hands firmly placed on her hips. She made no move to shove me off or neglect my presence. It was more warming than I would have thought possible.

“What the bleeding hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked, my smile turning from evil and cold, to pleased and warm and teasing.

“You called me Buffy,” she said softly.

“I thought that was your name.” I felt my own voice grow sweeter and huskier and softer, like an ear teasing tone. She was stirring something inside me I couldn’t quite put a finger on. It made me shiver, made my teeth clink together with a wild fury, made me crash to my knees, arms in the air, made me cower, made me feel cold, made me feel scalding, made me feel naked, made me feel exposed, made me feel open. It was fear. A strong, powerful, vampire to slayer fear. It could be nothing else. It was nothing else. So primal, it’s lack of logic escaped me.

“It is, but you never call me Buffy. What does it mean...” She got closer to my chair and if my blood could boil, it would be steaming. If my heart could beat in my chest, it would have stopped as I felt her warmth wash over me like heat from the sun when I was human. Like the water over my body in the shower. Like waves over a shore.

“I don’t know. It was a mistake. What do you want me to call you? Bitch, bint, luv, pet. Slayer? I have a lot of names I could easily call you, you know.” I tried to play the fear factor easy, but I’m sure the whole world could feel it, springing within their heads.

“I like Buffy. I like it when you say Buffy. Say it again.” She took another step closer, he thighs mere inches away from my knees. If she leaned over, just a little... I could feel her... Pounding my blood, like it should pound through my veins.

“Buffy,” I whispered, liking the name roll of my tongue. I had to make a move, I had to get closer to her, I had to touch her... I had to feel her skin against my hand, against my own. But I had to let her decide. You can’t properly pull someone in the dirt and hold them. Well, you could, but it doesn't give the satisfaction of watching them jump in themselves.

She took a chance. She slid her warm, burning hot hands against my thighs. Her warmth radiated through my jeans, making my dead body warm like I had had a match drop on my chest. Made me arouse like I had her digging into me like a meal. I felt my jaw drop open in pleasure and surprise, but then I was gone. I could barely control the emotions, the strong thrall to Buffy I had at this moment. It was like... I don’t know, I’ve run out of beyond belief metaphors for my brain to chew on, it was incredible, just feeling her touch me.

“Say it again,” she whispered in my ear, sliding her tongue around the lobe and the channel.

“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” I gasped. “I want you...” I grabbed her around the waist, forcing her lips against my own in a blind, wild passionate kiss. A kiss like I’d never felt before. She tasted incredible. Her power... Her strength... her well muscled, petite figure, pressed against my own. I tried to deepen the kiss, show her all I could do, let her see Angelus had nothing on me. But she was pushing me away. She wanted it, I could feel it like I could feel my own lust, but she was hiding. Hiding from the cold and darkness I shrouded her with. There was no comfort in me, I knew it, but that was *not* what this poor, lost girl wanted. She wanted to feel bad, wanted to be bad, and I was giving her that. My lips sealed an unspoken promise, or they could, but she was turning away, but she couldn’t bare it. She was having a tug of war with herself and I was caught in the middle of her conflict and my own lust. Her’s too. Her lips never closed, never moved. I tried to force my tongue into her mouth, but her own tangled with mine, keeping it out. She slid her arms around my back, but would allow it to go no further. She held it for what seemed like hours, hours that seemed endless, endless and perfect. The best of my entire, long, long life. It was great, it was incredible, it was frightening, it was above just the two of us. It was a melding of the souls. It was me and the Slayer. It was never meant to be, but it was fate. Fear, how wrong was I? It was love. More frightening than anything a man could face.

Buffy let me go, her warm arms sliding slowly against my rips. Her lips slowly realizing their grip on my own, but not without a nibble. Then... for a moment, she gazed into my eyes, and I saw the realization, the recognition beneath them. She was seeing who she was, what she’d just done, and who with. She had lost herself, as had I, but she hated it. I could see it. I could feel it.

“Buffy...” My voice could never convey the love I had for that name, those too syllables, blended to make the perfect word. She was an angel... She was an angel and she had no idea. She even had wings, but she couldn’t feel them, she couldn’t see her own beauty, so blinding, so powerful, it ushered away the darkness I carried with me. She made me feel alive, made me feel complete, made me feel anything other than me, the lowly murderer. I had tasted an angel. Whatever God let me do that, could keep me this bleeding chair forever. If I could hold that angel once, I was the luckiest man in the world. Let Angelus have Drusilla, I have something better. Something beyond simple lust and vampiric instinct. I have love, real ligtamite love. Soaring above me love. Stripping me and whipping me with leather straps love. Humiliating, invergerating, empowering, inspiring, frightening, real, true love. For the first time in my very long life.

“Spike... No... no...” Tears, big blue and salty streamed down her face. Her pain pounded in my unbeating heart. It sent a stirring to my legs, I will to my brain. This was my moment, to show her, to tell her without words. I leapt up, my legs holding me, but barely. I ran over to her, unsteady and wrapped an arm around her.

“Buffy, Buffy. Shh,” I whispered into her ear, my face pressed against her soft blonde hair. Her sobs rattled against my ribs, sending shudders up me. She didn’t return the embrace. Her hands fell uselessly at her side, her sobs faded into the large amount of empty space in the factory.

“NO!!! NO!!! Let me go! Please, please, just let me go, Spike! Spike! Spike” she screamed, struggling against me. But I couldn’t let her go. I... It was too unbearable to let her go. But this... Her pain, caused by me, it was less hard.

“Shh!” I put a finger on her lips and she responded by digging her teeth into it, blood running down. “Ahh!” I drew back and she sent her heel against my stomach. The pain of the ground smashing against my head didn’t compare to the pain of Buffy’s shame.
*~*~*~*
I heard Spike scream and I heard the clicking of heels on the cement, but I didn’t move. I didn’t care. Let him scream until his voice box came flying out of his mouth. His brutally honest or morally wrong or just selfish words had no rite to be traveling about in the air the humans had to breath. The air I had no reason to breath. But I wanted to. I needed to feel like I was part of this world, not death on two legs.

Was my love of death and destruction and mayhem and pain... was that me or the demon within me? Once you become a vampire, you don’t lose yourself like you’d like to imagine you did. You just... you’re just so lost in your own hatred or denial to snap out of it. Yup, that’s all a vampire was. Ever. At his best. A child pretending to be an adult, a kid hiding from the big, bad world in the only was he knows how. Killing and being evil and... well, things people don’t need to think about. It wasn’t *the* vampire, there is no vampire. The vampire is just the ability and need to drink blood. That’s all. The brutality behind it, that’s me and my instinct, my hatred.

That’s me. Death on two legs. God, do I ever sound like Spike? All gloom and doom unless he’s talking about himself or sex. But God, Buffy... The things I *long* to do to her, *need* to do to her. But I can’t... I love her... And love beats down all, even hatred and instinct and... God, everything. Even me. Love is fighting me, and love is *going* to win. I can’t fight it, I don’t have the skill, nor the strength. It comes and goes as it pleases, sometimes unwanted, but it will forever be a fight I can not win.

Death is also a fight I can not win. Death is not only yours, not only others. It is... more than even I, who has been wearing it like an extra garment for years, can not begin to comprehend the bowels of mystery that is called death. What does it mean... to me? It means... losing all contact, letting the world fade, whether it be yours, or someone elses, there is this place you go, so light, so free, so dark, so crazed, no one can make sense of it. Alone. You need someone to tell you these things, hold your hand when you can’t put your feet on the ground. Buffy can save me from death, I know she can. But the real question is... will she want to?

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