One More Time (Page 1)

It was over. The years of watching his back, never knowing when his past would come crashing into his present with a hail of bullets. Well, it had happened. The past had finally joined with the present, and now everything was truly past. Julia was dead. Vicious was dead. It was all over. He felt no anger, no sadness. Just a void, a deep emptiness that he couldn't quite explain.

It's all a dream, she had said.

Yeah, just a dream. A dream I spent the last 3 years trying to wake up from.

He started to make his way down the steps. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, no destination in mind, just motion—walking just to be walking. One step, two, three. He watched his feet moving, moving all on their own without any real thought on his part. Moving forward, slowly and haltingly, but a forward motion nonetheless. He heard the distinctive sound of guns being drawn, safety's being taken off. He slowly looked up to see the surviving dregs of the syndicate staring up at him from the foot of the stairs. How ironic. After all he had accomplished, all he had survived, he was going to be killed by some nameless thugs.

I'm the only one who can kill you, Spike.

I don't know about that, Vicious, but I think these guys are gonna give it a shot. He realized, belatedly, that he didn't even have his gun on him. The one thing he knew he could always rely on, and it was back up there, lying next to the body of his nemesis. How pitiful. He couldn't even go out in some clichéd blaze of glory. All he could do was simply stand here and get slaughtered. A smirk crept onto his face, a faint twinkle in the one eye he could still see out of. He slowly lifted his right hand, pointing at the men below him, their guns no longer held at the ready.

"Bang."

A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he felt himself falling. There was no fear, just a growing realization. I guess you were right, Vicious. It looks like you got me after all, you rotten little—

Darkness.

* * *

No light, all still dark. Not a quiet dark anymore, though, as random sounds and words managed to break through the fog in his mind.

"Oh, my g—Spike!" A pause, a clicking sound. "Jet! I'm on the top floor. Get up here, quick! I found him." Another click. He felt hands pushing against him, slowly lifting him up onto his side, rolling him over onto his back. The voice again, breathing a little heavy. "Man, you're heavy for such a scrawny-looking guy." A pause. "Please, please don't be…" Two hands, one on his neck, one on his chest. Almost a whisper. "Thank goodness." The voice still quiet, but strained. "Spike, you idiot. You stubborn, stupid, cocky jerk. Just had to go, didn't you, just had to come here. And for what? What did it prove? Just that you could get shot full of holes."

He managed to open his eyes slightly, saw Faye's face looking down at him. "Cut, too."

Her eyes widened, an ecstatic smile of (it couldn't be) relief on her face. "Spike! You're awake!" A somewhat quizzical look. "What was that? What did you just say?"

He coughed, pain racking his body. He managed a ghost of a smile. "Said I proved I can get cut, too."

A scowl on her face, both hands on her hips. "At a time like this, you're still trying to crack your lame jokes? Jeez." An almost concerned look entered her eyes, one of her hands reached down to his forehead. A small gasp. "You're burning up. Don't worry, Spike, Jet's on his way here. We'll get you to a doctor. You're gonna be fine."

"Doesn't matter."

"Don't talk like that. Don't you dare say things like that! You've got to stay with me, talk to me, Spike!"

His voice was getting fainter, the little strength he had left was fading. "He was right, you know."

"Who, Spike? Who was right?"

"Vicious." A faint smile. "He always said he was the only one who could kill me."

"I said don't talk like that! Everything's going to be fine, you'll see."

"I'm sorry…Faye…sorry…" He closed his eyes.

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