vettac: (Default)
vettac ([personal profile] vettac) wrote2010-06-04 10:36 am

Too Many Secrets 10/?

Silent Blues

Been far away for far too long
So far away, so far away

The bullet slammed into his shoulder, and he struggled to hold onto his Jericho as the pain blindsided him. He fired off rounds with the gun in his left hand, until all three gunmen lay dead on the pavement.

He slumped against the building, sliding down until his bottom hit the ground, breathing heavily as he waited for the pain to subside. He had not planned on coming so close to dying today. But, at least he could say that he had achieved his goal.

As he gazed over at the three bodies, an overwhelming exhaustion washing over him. He was coming to the realization that the chains he had built around his heart was not as strong as he had thought; a certain purple-haired femme fatale held the key.

The first time it occurred to him was when he had walked into the Glowing Sun to see her sitting on that bar stool, legs crossed as the hem of her dress rode up suggestively, showing a smooth pale thigh. It wasn't the first time it occurred to him that she was beautiful.

And he just could not erase the memory of the pain he had so callously caused her. He was seriously fucked up, he knew.

His eyes were starting to glaze over from the loss of blood leaking from his shoulder and the thin stream of liquid that trickled down his face. He blinked rapidly against the burning in his eyes and he looked up, seeing not the electric wires traversing across the city, but the lush green of trees on a windy day, someplace in the time of his past.

For a fleeting moment, he thought about how easy it would be to just let it all end here and now.

Is this all that's left? He laughed mirthlessly at what the authorities would think when they found the infamous Spike Spiegel, dead in an alleyway by his own hand. What a fitting end to an otherwise stellar life of crime.

Her image had come to his mind many times in the past six months; the sheen of dark hair brushing across a soft, pale cheek, her face displaying a wistful innocence that she kept hidden unless she was alone, smoking or staring out the porthole into space.

That was the image that appeared before he blacked out; it was that image that prompted him to call Ronald at the Glowing Sun before everything went dark.



Faye shoots up in bed as she is jolted awake. She looks around blindly for Spike until she realizes that it had been just a dream, more like a nightmare. She tries to recall exactly what had happened before she woke up but all she can remember is a hazy dark scene, with dead bodies strewn across the ground, and one of the bodies was Spike's.

But the most disturbing part, the part that bothers her the most, was that the bullet through his brain had been put there by the gun in his hand.

She doesn't know how she knows, but she does. It's as though she can see inside of him, hear his thoughts, feel his guilt.

She swings her feet to the floor, standing in place for several minutes as she tries to shake off the feeling of unease.

"Spike," she whispers. "Where are you?"

She lays down again and presses her cheek against the pillow, and she closes her eyes against the tears, wondering if she can find some way for it not to hurt so much.


As consciousness returned, the muffled sound of voices drifted to his ears and he opened his eyes. Then he became aware of two things: the light hurt like hell, and he had a blinding headache that made him want to puke. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to identity of the voices speaking softly in the room.

"… lost a lot of blood … blood type … O negative … two ccs …"

"Where - find … ambushed …"

The smell of ether and the beep of machinery told him that he was probably in hospital.

Here we go again.

The flicker of a smile flashed across his mind, but his heart sank as he realized that he had cheated death yet again. He was finding it hard to remember what had been his last thought before he blacked out.

I - I can't - goddamn it – why can't I remember?

He struggled to open his eyes again, focused on the blurry figures near the bed instead of the pain that was nearly splitting his skull apart. He lifted an arm to rub his head, but was stopped short by the device pinning his arm to the bed.

At the rustling of the sheet, the voices stopped, realizing that he was awake. He could see one of the figures moving towards the bed, accompanied by the smell of flowers.


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