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They were screaming, always screaming. Faces flashed beneath his closed eye lids, fast, unending blurs of flesh and eyes. The screams pouring past parted lips fluctuated -- low and long, high and shrill, sobbed and pleading, always fearful, always pained, dying. The world of his dreams was painted red with blood, staining faces, dripping from wounded necks, coating broken bodies.
When the twisted, screaming faces wound away into nothingness, others took their places. Dark and pale, a Goddess smiling at him, lit by the sun. Eyeless dolls... marching into eternity.
Dark eyes, sneering lips, deadly eyes. Towering and powerful, dominance and rage marking the powerful lines of a leather clad form. Blood in his wake, following as death left his eyes and agony replaced it.
A flash of red hair, blood and fire streaming outwards in a proud banner. Wide eyes, green and innocent... haunted and broken... dangerous and loving.
Those faces, laughing and mocking and loving and hating, slipped away from him as dust rose before his eyes. And he cried out now as he realized that he dust was him, pulling apart, scattering and no more.
Paul's eyes snapped open, his breaths coming in quick, shallow pants. Bright blue eyes stared at the ceiling sightlessly, the pale blue surface hidden by a haze of fine grey dust. His eyes clenched shut, so tight that colour burst to life against the dark backdrop. When they peeled open once more, his view of the ceiling was uninhibited by a cloud of dust.
His fingers twitched, testing to see if they could still move. The slight motion did little to reassure Paul, the sensation of flying apart still powerful in his mind. He shifted to his elbow, his eyes drinking in the sight of the woman at his side. Her eyes were still closed, eyelashes pale against her bronzed skin. This night, her warmth at his side, her image in his mind, were not enough to banish the sense of unease that had followed him into wakefulness.
He moved from the bed, careful not to disturb her, and padded across their room. He slipped out of the balcony doors, the warm wind caressing his skin as he leaned against the banister. The scent of pine, flowers, and water was strong when he drew in a deep, calming breath.
His body had tensed before his mind even recognized the presence at his side -- more than the instinctive reaction to the feeling of danger nearby, but a deep recognition that made his knees tremble. His head shifted slightly, eyeing the woman at his side warily.
The dream sprung into the forefront of his mind as he saw the sweep of red hair and the deep green eyes watching him with mingled amusement and longing. He wanted to reach out to her, draw her into his arms and never release her. He wanted to run, to escape the intensity of her gaze and forget that answering longing that sprang to life within him.
Her fingers wound around his wrist when he stumbled back a step, moving back towards the safety of the room he had left. She was cool against his flesh, and he trembled inside. "Who are you?" he managed to ask, his throat dry and his heart pounding.
A thin eyebrow arched upwards. "I think you remember," she smiled. "You couldn't forget me any more that I can you."
The words sent a shock of emotion through him -- something he dared not examine. "I-- I'm married," he finally mumbled, shocked to find that he found himself resenting the woman still sleeping in the room behind him. Had it not been for her, he could have lost himself in the steady gaze of the woman who held onto him.
Her lips twisted in distaste as her eyes tore away from his, swinging towards the shadowed bedroom visible through the slightly open door. "Drusilla... I should have figured that she'd get her claws into you again," she sighed.
"Drusilla?" Paul asked blankly. He could barely think, everything had suddenly become so confused... unreal and yet sharper and more intense that anything that he had ever imagined.
"Do you believe that the soul travels from life to life, taking new form and yet always drawn to those that it had known before?" she questioned, her voice low. It washed over his senses, and he thought that he could willingly drown within her. "I knew her once... lifetimes ago, as enemy and rival. You, I knew too -- as something much more intimate," she smiled again, predatory and sensual.
"I don't-"
"Shh..." she cautioned, her finger resting against his lips. "You rescued me, a terrified little fledgling bowing to Angelus' will. You took me away, loved me, promised me forever. And then one of the Slayers came and took you away from me... but I saw you again, later. Different but same." His eyes drifted shut as her fingers reached up, tracing over his eyelids. "The eyes are always the same. Beautiful."
"And I told him what I tell you now, and he ran from me -- frightened and disbelieving... ran right into the street," she said, her voice hitching. "And he came back to me, and I told him again, and I made him mine. We hunted by moonlight and loved each other as we were meant to... and then the Slayer came, and you left me again. And now, we're together again, tonight."
"You're crazy," he said, not believing the words he spoke.
"You always liked crazy, Spike," she smiled.
Her face shifted and she was on him, teeth tearing past the skin stretched across his neck. Her wrist rose to his lips, rich blood dribbled past them. Before the world went dark, he felt her lips soft against his forehead. Her humming accompanied him into death.
Willow smiled, shifting Spike until he was more comfortable in her arms. She rose, and looking into the room that her beloved had shared with his wife, her grin widened in triumph. "Won again, bitch," she laughed before slipping into the darkness with her prize.
~End