Work Text:
Darkness
calls
to Spike.
Most nights
he stays with Dawn,
with Buffy’s friends,
because he knows
it’s what she would have wanted.
Sometimes
he even hears her voice
in his head,
telling him:
Protect them, Spike.
So he does.
But other nights
he has to get away,
to feel the wind;
he drives the bike
fast
and reckless
and he howls
as he careens
around the curves.
God, how he misses her.
He’d never truly believed
she could love him,
not the way he had loved her.
Loves her still.
But sometimes
there had been a glimpse of…
respect.
The very edge
of friendship.
She’d confided in him.
Asked for his help.
Never all he wanted–
he’d wanted everything!
to touch,
kiss,
hold,
love–
but every
moment
had been a gift.
But Spike cannot speak these words–
not in Sunnydale.
Not around the others.
Can’t even think them–
they’d see his love
written plain.
So he rides into the night,
where only the darkness
can hear him
cry.