Rating: PG 13
Spoilers: AtS 5:22 Not Fade Away.
Dreams Are For The Foolish
Spike turned over in the bed. He opened his eyes. It was four in the morning. He could hear the rain outside as it fell heavily on the guttering like millions of tiny stones. He sighed wearily and gave up all pretence of trying to sleep. Most vampires would be out roaming the streets satisfying their bloodlust, but not him, not anymore. He was here; stuck in the basement flat which Lindsey had given him…playing Henry Higgins to his own real life Eliza Doolittle.
It was a joyless abode, only made easier by the presence of the obsolete God who slept at his side…at least she seemed to sleep. She would stare at the wall… motionless for hours, while her body rested. Sometimes she would mutter incoherent words in an old language, long forgotten. When he had first brought her here, she would sleep on the sofa, but Illyria had a tendency for roaming that could only be kept in check by having her share his bed.
He once asked her if she dreamt in those dark hours before the dawn. Illyria had just looked at him strangely, asking if the odd images that sometimes appeared in her head were what passed as human dreams. She hated them; they just reminded her of the mortal body that contained her.
"Dreams are for the foolish. Do you dream vampire?" she had enquired.
Spike fumbled around on the bedside table for his smokes. He put one to his lips and lit it, inhaling deeply. Yeah he had had dreams for a future once. Some that had stemmed as far back as Sunnydale, but that was neither here nor there. Angel had dreamt of being human again, but look where that had gotten him. Illyria was right…dreams were for the foolish.
He missed them all so much...in the short space of a year they had accepted him, more than all those years in Sunnydale where he had waited to be tossed a crumb of gratitude.
His gut twisted as his thoughts wandered to Angel…falling in his arms right before he dusted. He had killed the dragon, just as he had wanted. Only he had not seen the demon rush at him from the shadows until it was too late. Hell, they had been coming from all directions. If it hadn't been for Illyria, Spike was sure everyone would have been a footnote in history.
He had grieved for his grandsire in a way he never would have thought possible. He and Drusilla were all that now remained of the original four. No doubt, she was off somewhere hooking up with some slime-covered demon in an obscure part of the world. He took another drag on his cigarette as he thought of Gunn…
Gunn had survived by some miracle, but he no longer wanted to fight. After he had healed, he had left LA in an attempt to put his violent past behind him with no forwarding address. Lorne had disappeared into the dark of that fateful night, eaten up by the final violent act he had carried out in the name of friendship and unity. The last Spike had heard of him, he was taking Las Vegas by storm. The only place a green, horned demon could work and blend in with all the other natives.
After the battle, Spike and Illyria had buried Wesley and scattered what remained of Angel in the dirt of Wesley's grave so that the heroes could rest together.
To her surprise, Illyria cried, and not because it was expected of her or appropriate to the occasion. The human emotions that sometimes touched her repelled and fascinated her all at the same time.
He had toyed with the idea of finding Willow to resurrect Angel, but had thought better of it. The witch was bound to tell Buffy that he was back. He liked it better this way and Angel might be a little pissed with him, Buffy style, and resurrections never went well. All he needed was Angel trying to bang him just so he could feel. He chuckled to himself.
No amount of dreaming on his part would unite them again except maybe one day in death. Spike looked over at Illyria, she shifted around and sat up, her blue eyes alert as they honed in on him. He could not help, but laugh at the logo on her nightshirt. A pink number that clashed with the blue of her body and the brightly printed letters "Get it here" emblazoned across her chest. It never failed to amuse him…he had bought it for the purpose when he had shopped for clothing. You couldn't wear a tight leather bodysuit seven days a week and not have it chafe a little. It was all part of his plan to educate her in the ways of the world in which she found herself.
She noticed and then proceeded to disregard his amusement and rose from the bed.
"Where are you going luv?" he asked.
"I have an odd desire to play that pointless game with the repetitive music and strange creatures," she said emotionlessly, as she walked by.
Spike followed her.
"At four in the bloody morning?"
"Time is irrelevant," she told him haughtily as exited the room.
He sighed; he would always be with her now. To leave her, would be like abandoning a helpless blue kitten. Okay she was a kitten capable of crushing demons, but no matter. She needed him as a guide…companion, what ever label you wanted to give it. He was her self appointed keeper in a world that gave no heed to the powerful being she once had been. She had become his pet.
Stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, he leaned forward and switched on the TV. He passed Illyria a controller and sat next to her on the sofa. He studied her profile… maybe things were not so bad, sitting in a basement at four in the morning playing video games with a deity.
He had found his place at last, with someone who really needed him. Spike smiled at her, and she smiled back, they both returned their attention to the screen and began to play.