Love is...

Title: Love Is Everything-An Epilogue
Series: Love Is…
Author's Name: Scarlet
Author's Email and URL: scarletsfiction@yahoo.com www.geocities.com/karenmnick
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I do not own Andrew. I do not own Spike. I do own some serious student loans. Don't sue.
Distribution: Of course you may place my baby somewhere nice. Just let me know so I can visit.
Rating: PG for angstyness…
Pairing: Andrew/Spike
Feedback: Please tell me that someone else likes Spike and Andrew!?!
Dedication: Super Huge thanks to Kaz and Katie for their beta help.
Author's Notes: I went a little AU with canon here. So sue me. Uh, just kidding about the suing part. Post Chosen/Vague AtS Season 5 Spoilers. Spike says goodbye.
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You’re such a wanker. A right bloody fool, you know? You love stories and pictures and making things up so everything turns out just the way you want it to. Well here’s a life lesson you should have learned years ago; life’s not all cakes and ale. Things don’t always turn out the way you want.

People die.

They hurt and they yearn and they die.

I hear you at night. Hear your tears and your regrets. Hear the way you treat those that are tryin’ to help you. Hear that damn polite whine that makes me want to come back from where I am to throttle you, before kissing you senseless and explainin’ things so you understand.

Maybe if I put it into one of your bloody presentations or videos you’d get it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like everything tied up before the credits roll. Well, too bad. You don’t get the big visuals. I was never much for ‘em anyway. Don’t see you so well where I am, but I *hear* everything.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Why you’re a wanker.

You told me once that we’re all gonna die, that you just got to choose the where and when. Well, you’re not the only bloke that gets to do the choosin’ you know. You don’t think that I had a choice? You think what happened was a cruel trick? Some evil design of fate? I’ll have you know that I did every bit as much choosin’ as you did.

I used to think you were blind. Blind and dumb and unbelievably naïve. I watched you--wanted you--day after day and you didn’t give me so much as a word. Thought you were blind, but I hear the truth now. I hear it in the way you speak ill of yourself, in the way you assume they love their family and love their friends but will never love you. Hear it in the way you sob your regrets into your pillow each night.

You weren’t blind. You just didn’t see.

Didn’t see me wanting you. Didn’t see how anyone could need someone so young and clumsy and utterly simple as you. But I did. I did want you; I do want you. And like a hunger for a drug that doesn’t exist, I crave and I yearn and I don’t just *get*. That, I suppose, is what they call penance. It’s what *I* deserve, but it’s not what *you* deserve--not even a little--which is why I’m takin’ all this trouble now.

I’m sorry, Andrew. A hundred and some-odd years and I can count on my hands the number of times I’ve said that, so you better know I mean it. I’m sorry I didn’t know. Guess I was havin’ some trouble seein’ myself. I should have said somethin’ sooner. Should have used our time better. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all of this it’s that life is short. I know that’s trite, and somethin’ of an understatement, but it’s true. I got a whole bloody heap of regrets about the things I did on earth, and I know you got ‘em too, but you don’t have to. That part of your life’s over, Andrew. Your little chum isn’t yours to worry about anymore. He’s got a place and a purpose and so do I, so dso do you. The Powers don’t want you worryin’ yourself ‘bout him anymore, and neither do I.

There are things my bloody grandsire can teach you about loss, pet. And not just from the causin’ it. He’s lost more than most folks’ll ever have. And he knows about sacrifice. The bloody poof lives for service so let him tell you ‘bout his little pal from the motherland. Maybe then you’ll understand.

See he wished, like I know you do now, for the return of one who was lost. Sacrifice is a funny thing, though. It’s not called a sacrifice because something is taken. To be a proper sacrifice, something has to be given willingly. An offering. A gift. And just like you, he wanted the gift back. Well, let me tell you, love; The Powers That Bloody Well Be don’t like welshers. That’s a lesson he learned. It’s a lesson you need to learn now, too.

Don’t know if I’m bein’ clear. Let me put this simple for you. I died. You lived. That simple enough? Now you’re wettin’ your pillow at night wishin’ me back, wantin’ me to give back an atonement. Wantin’ me to make my life worth shite. Hell, don’t you love me at all? I mean I know you’ve said it, and I think you mean it, but if was true, if you really loved me, you would know that dyin’ was just about the only thing I could give this bloody fucked up world. Now you want me to give it back, like it didn’t mean anything. Well you can’t rightly give back a sacrifice. A real friend would see that lovin’ you and your soddin’, mixed-up world is the only thing of value I had to give and I did it freely so buggar all if...

I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you mean, Andrew. I know you’re just hurtin’ and achin’ and missin’ me like it’ll never end. Truth is, love, wishin’ me back isn’t the way to make us happy—you *or* me.

I died for you.

Died for Buffy and Dawn and all those little slayers and all the bloody wankers I ain’t ever met. Did it ‘cause I love you and cause it had to be done. And I’d do it again if it were what the world needed.

Maybe that’s the problem. Love, I mean. I know you think I was the only one that loved you, the only one that ever would. But you’re wrong. You got me on a pedestal I don’t rightly deserve, though I appreciate it.

Hey, you ever been to the ocean, Andrew? Ever stood with bare feet in wet sand as the waves rolled over your ankles and the seaweed clung to your toes? Probably not. I’d wager you never left your house when you were younger-content with video games and computers and television, weren’t you? And I know you haven’t been since I’ve gone, ‘cause I’ve been listening. I haven’t been to the ocean in, oh, many years. Not really, not when I could feel the sun warm my face or watch a boat sink on the horizon. It’s a miracle, really. You look at an ocean, Andrew, and it helps you see.

So now you have an assignment, hear? I want you to go to the ocean, and stand in the *sunshine*, and smell the salt air. Let the water wash over your feet and then dip your hands in the sea, and maybe then you’ll realize something that it took dyin’ twice for me to see. Love is like a teaspoon of ocean water. Real and tangible and one small *part* of an endless, eternal sea.

They want to love you, Andrew. They want to be part of your life. They’re each a part of that ocean. An’ if I’m gone? What’s one teaspoon of love in a sea of devotion? Love isn’t something to be rationed, pet. You don’t get one allotment in life and when that’s used up it’s over. Love is an endless, endless ocean and you’re part of that and—damn. Now do you see why they always said I was a bloody awful poet? Can’t believe I’m wastin’ my last minutes tryin’ to get a message to that poncy demon and all I can think of are oceans and—

Guess this might not make much sense; I’m under a time constraint. I don’t want you gettin’ all Movie of the Week when you hear this now, either. I’ll not have that green chum of Angel’s getting all weepy just to slip a message to you. I’m leavin’ this place soon. I’ve been told there are things for me to do, a destiny to fulfill and all that rubbish. I don’t always trust the Powers, and rightly so I think. I want to believe them, but they tend to be a bit wonky with the details. Don’t suppose they figured me for finding a messenger, then. Guess they’re not used to the stealthy prowess of “covert operatives” like ourselves.

That’s a joke, by the way, Andrew. You can laugh sometimes. Before, you used to laugh from time to time. Now I never hear you. You’d think *you* were the one who was blowing in the wind. I may be dead, but you are allowed to laugh.

Tick, tick, tick, love. So much I wanna tell you. Don’t suppose much of it changes anything, really. I hope this message gets to you intact the way it’s supposed to. But if it doesn’t, if it can’t, then I hope you know this:

Let them love you. You were easy to love.

*****

“You get all that, sweetcheeks?”

“Yeah.” When did my voice get so raw? It’s so low and weak I can hardly hear myself. It’s a good thing Lorne is still sitting close.

“Lorne?” a girl’s voice breaks in.

“So, Andy. What to do you think?”

“It’s really…I think…” I’m not sure what to say.

“Lorne? Um, Pasty Depressed Dude?”

“It’s okay to go slow, kid. The point is, to *go*. And I hope you realize that we’re all here for you.”

“Thanks.” I try to give a faint smile and it almost feels real. That’s a change.

The ocean. I guess I have to go to the ocean. Spike was right. I haven’t been there since I saw Jaws 3-D, so maybe it’s time.

“Hello? Am I invisible or what? I mean, I know I’m invisible in mirrors, but…well, that’s not what I meant. Am I invisible to you freaks?”

“Oh, if only…” Lorne snarks. “What is it, Harmony? What do you want?”

“I don’t want you. I want him.” She points a pink lacquered nail at me.

“Me?” I squeak. Okay, so I know Spike was a vamp, but I could *trust* him. Harmony? Not so much. I think maybe she used to know Spike. “Why do you want me?”

“As if! I don’t *want* you. I’m just doing my job.”

“Annoying the kid’s your job?” Lorne says, as he gets up to leave.

“No, Green Goblin. Delivering mail’s my job. Here.” She thrusts a small, thick envelope at me. It’s kinda lumpy and my name and the Wofram & Hart address are scrawled on the front. “This just came for you.”


~*~The End~*~