Lost

By Cotti

Title: Lost (follows I Shall Believe)
Author: Me. Cotti. ([email protected])
Rating: PG-13 (angsty)
Disclaimer: Not mine, the people are Joss’, the lyrics are Sarah
McLachlan’s.
Distribution: Fire & Ice, otherwise, ask.
Note: I really do need a title for this series, suggestions would be
thoroughly appreciated.
Feedback: Always greatly appreciated.

By the shadows of the night I go
I move away from the crowded room
That sea of shallow faces masked in warm regret
They don’t know how to feel, they don’t know what is lost.
Ooh…
Lost in the darkness of a land
Where all the hope that’s offered is
Memories of being taken by the hand
And we are led into the sun
But I don’t have a hold on what is real
Though we can only try
What is there to give or to believe
I want it all to go away, I want to be alone
Sympathy’s wasted on my hollow shell
I feel there’s nothing left to fight for
No reason for a cause
And I can’t feel your breath,
And I can’t feel you near
Ooh…
Lost in the darkness of a land
Where all the hope that’s offered is
Memories of being taken by the hand
And we are led into the sun
But I don’t have a hold on what is real
Though we can only try
What is there to give or to believe
I wanted a change, knowing all I could do was try
I was looking for someone…
-Lost, Sarah McLachlan

He was alone again. She had come for him, like she had said, but she was
gone. The night they had shared, after so much time, flitting away, like
a tune caught on the breeze.
He had to get out of there, had to don his mask and join the masquerade
once more. More importantly, he needed to feed.
The sun sank slowly over the western horizon, and he slipped from the
mansion, and the painful memories that resided there.
He looked around town, the same, after so many years. He slipped into
the Club where the Bronze had once stood, long since burned to the
ground, his eyes caught an aged slayer and her two perpetual companions.
The dark hared boy now a grown man, while the dark, brooding vampire had
remained untouched by time. The slayer herself, on the other hand, was
another story. Time had been cruel to her, her subjective beauty all but
gone now. Here eyes were tired, old, almost dying, her body was wiry and
unfitting to the rest of her. She had lost any grace she once had, a
scar marring her left cheek. Many other battle wounds that were deeper,
more permanent, most likely were concealed from view. He moved away from
the noise, the chatter, the people. They had grown up, undoubtedly, his
wretched sire still following the slayer around like a whipped puppy,
the dark hared boy had become a rather handsome man, with piercing eyes
and strong build. He possessed grace that the slayer lacked, as well as
confidence and a wisdom that seemed beyond his years.
Spike loathed them, a sneer crossing his face, they weren’t cursed with
the memories, nor haunted by her touch. They didn’t know just how much
both of them hurt, being separated from the other. They didn’t know what
he suffered, why he suffered, or why he had come to love it’s aching
torture. They were rising to leave, and he made a hasty exit, not
wanting to speak with them, not wanting to look at them any longer.
He ran into the night, finding an easy meal, before wandering the
streets for hours. He pondered his affliction, the source of both his
hope and his own personal hell. He stopped by the park, their first
kiss. His heart threatened to shatter, overcome with memories. He wanted
to stay, and wait for the sun’s rays to take him to her. He looked
around him, seeing her, but not. She was everywhere and nowhere all at
one. He couldn’t trust his eyes, he had no idea what to believe anymore.

‘Trust your heart,’ he voice came rushing through his mind, but wasn’t
so sure he could to that anymore. His heart had been broken into so many
pieces, and so many times, he wasn’t sure if there anything left of it
worth trusting.
He staggered back to the mansion only seconds before dawn. He was
surprised, and more than slightly annoyed to find the slayer standing in
the foyer, looking up at the oil portrait of Willow. She spun to face
him.
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” she smiled, trying to be nice, but
only dredging up more pain.
“What do you want, slayer?” he asked coldly, wearily. He loathed her,
true, but at that moment, he would have loathed anyone. Well, almost
anyone, he could never loathe *her*, his angel. He simply wanted to be
alone, so that he could drown himself in memories.
“I saw you last night,” she said, “I thought you had left, I wanted to
see if you were all right,” she murmured, taking in his tattered
appearance. “God, you look horrible…”
“Thank you for you concern,” he said, the sarcasm in his voice almost a
tangible object, “get out,” he finished coldly, walking towards his
bedroom, leaving the stunned slayer alone in the foyer once again.
“Spike, I’m sorry she died, but it’s been almost ten years,” she said,
“she’s not coming back. Get over it, everyone else has,” she said,
almost bitterly. Truth be told, she was jealous, he still loved her
after all these years. She knew it was driving him mad, but it only made
her want him more. He was so loyal, consumed by a love that could never
die.
Before she knew what she was doing she had moved beside him, spun him to
face her and kissed him hard. She was filled with unspent passion, and
she attacked the blonde vampire with force she hadn’t imagined herself
capable of. Spike, on the other hand, was revolted. He shoved her off of
him, throwing her to the ground.
“Get out,” he growled, low and menacing, she scrambled to her feet and
glared at him harshly.
“Stupid asshole, I try to show a little sympathy and what do I get?” she
sneered at him.
“You have a strange idea of sympathy, slayer,” he said, his words were
frigid, and they chilled the slayer to the bone.
He waited, his back turned to her, for her to leave. She didn’t.
“Why are you still here?” he asked at length, his tone maintaining the
same chilling coldness as before.
“Because I don’t want to leave you,” she murmured, walking up behind
him, touching his arm gently. He shrugged off her hand, and, when she
touched him again, he threw her back violently enough to bring tears to
her eyes. She rose silently, giving him one, last fleeting look before
she dashed out into the bright morning sun. He shook his head.
‘Stupid slayer,’ he thought, ‘can’t get a warm body so she’ll settle for
a dead one,’ he snorted at that thought. How true it was. He wasn’t only
physically dead, but emotionally dead too. He had died with her, that
night ten years ago. All that was left was a shell of the man he once
was.
He sighed, willfully moving into the bedroom, using all his strength not
to draw the curtains wide and bask in the beauty of the sunlight for a
brief moment before he became an array of so many ashes, fluttering to
the cold, stone floor. He felt so empty. Hollow, nothing drove him. He
fed because he had to, but his excursions were rare and, normally, quite
brief.
He sighed, draping his duster over the back of a chair. He wearily shed
his clothes and crawled into bed. He briefly thought about the slayer,
he was tired. Tired of the memories, of the pain, he’d thought, at least
before, that a change would be his answer. But now, he saw how wrong he
was. He could never change what his heart had decided to be true.
He could never replace her, because she would always come for him…

******

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