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On the Rooftop
Jun. 28th, 2006 08:54 pmShit.
It's like another bad dream. When Vincent was about to kill him on Halloween, he said these words: Tell me, before this life of yours ends: did I die on Titan long ago? Is this world just a dream that these butterflies are showing me? Are they part of the dream, or are the butterflies real and Titan just a nightmare that I can't wake up from? I can't tell.
That's pretty much how Spike feels right about now, except this isn't Titan, it's Mars. But he could be asking the universe questions that reek with unhappy familiarity: Did I die at Red Dragon Headquarters long ago? Is this just a nightmare I have to relive? Is Julia part of the nightmare, or is she real and Beth just a dream? I can't tell any more. I just can't tell.
He's lived it before, unless it's all just déjà vu and right now, in this moment, he can't fucking tell: he sets down the box of ammo, the grenades, and digs through for clips for the rifle in his hands. Annie's dead; there's not a damn thing he can do about that.
If this life of mine is just a dream, maybe it will end the same way it ended last time: I'll get back to the end of the universe and my angel will be waiting for me with a scar and a smile and a martini in her hand. But if I fuck with things, maybe I don't get that dream. Maybe I only get the one that ends in that flash of white light and it never goes beyond that.
Maybe it's destiny, if there is such a thing. He's not sure. He's not sure of anything and now he's just swept up in it all, like a shell on a stormy beach. Sucked out to sea, sucked into the water, along for the ride, helpless to stop it. All he can do is what he can do. He opted not to change his past when he had the chance, and now... well, now he's paying, and so is everyone else.
Shit.
Julia looks up at him. "You won't need all those weapons if we run away together, you know that."
The time for that has come and gone, and both of them know it. Too little too late; too much else at stake. It's just that Julia... she doesn't deserve to die. But if he changes things -- tries to change things -- what other repercussions will it have? So he loads the rifle, tests it.
"You're staying." There's no surprise in her voice, not a damn bit. "Then I'll stay, too. I'll be with you... until the end."
No one's asking her to but it's not like they have a lot of choice: the place is surrounded. Standing, he spreads the slats of the Venetian blinds with the tip of one finger and one finger only. It's exactly what he thought. This is another setup. Raising the rifle, he gives Julia an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm sorry." He's sorry for so many things, he can't even begin to count them. "I'm going to make a bit of a scene."
It's then that things happen in a jumble: a bomb explodes down the street; the front window to the shop shatters; a Syndicate guy bursts through the front door of the shop. The luxury of being able to make choices has just been taken away from all of them. He pushes Julia through the back door, shoots at the guy by the door, does a quick head count: there are one two three of them and that's just the beginning. Together, he and Julia race up the stairs, dodging bullets. There's a low roof outside from the building next door; he knows this place. He knows it well, just like he knows -- knew -- Annie well; pushing open the door, he steps through but not before taking out the guy who's followed them up the stairs. The same guy who burst in the front door.
Spike has no fucking idea where the other two are. He wishes more than anything that he could remember from last time, but it's going too fast; it's all a damn blur. As they step out onto the rooftop, there are... fuck, they're surrounded. Above, behind, below: these guys aren't fucking around. As they step out, he yells at Julia to fucking get down and fires at a guy coming through the door behind her: two down.
This can't be déjà vu: it's too real, too vivid, too much in his memory. The way Julia falls to the ground, gun in her hand. The Syndicate asshole firing at them from the street below, using his car for cover. The way he himself falls to the ground, just out of sight, reloading that rifle.
And then... Julia stands.
(no no no no, fuck, no)
Dizzy, she rubs her forehead, staggers a little.
(goddammit, Julia, I told you to stay down and I meant it)
And it's times like this he curses the everloving shit out of that fake eye of his because it sees things too damn clearly and makes him remember and remember and remember when all he wants to do is forget, and he raises the rifle to that bastard behind her on the stairs and fires but he's too late, too fucking late, and Julia falls and it takes forever.
Forever, and the whole arc of her body meeting the ground (click) and the flock of doves that fly off when she lands (click) and the rain washing down on them (click) and the sight of the asshole who shot her crumpling and dying (click) takes too long and she's there, sprawled out (click) before he can even call her name.
"Julia!"
It's like the first time, and the time in the bar, and now again and there's no stopping to think about how cruel or unfair fate is: there's only this understanding in his gut that she's dying. He's by her side in a heartbeat, turns her over: no one gets to leave Julia face down in the fucking rain. No matter what, no one gets to leave her like that.
Her eyes only open again so very briefly to meet his, the words it's all a dream barely even audible before she's gone.
Yeah, just a dream.
Fuck you, universe.
It's like another bad dream. When Vincent was about to kill him on Halloween, he said these words: Tell me, before this life of yours ends: did I die on Titan long ago? Is this world just a dream that these butterflies are showing me? Are they part of the dream, or are the butterflies real and Titan just a nightmare that I can't wake up from? I can't tell.
That's pretty much how Spike feels right about now, except this isn't Titan, it's Mars. But he could be asking the universe questions that reek with unhappy familiarity: Did I die at Red Dragon Headquarters long ago? Is this just a nightmare I have to relive? Is Julia part of the nightmare, or is she real and Beth just a dream? I can't tell any more. I just can't tell.
He's lived it before, unless it's all just déjà vu and right now, in this moment, he can't fucking tell: he sets down the box of ammo, the grenades, and digs through for clips for the rifle in his hands. Annie's dead; there's not a damn thing he can do about that.
If this life of mine is just a dream, maybe it will end the same way it ended last time: I'll get back to the end of the universe and my angel will be waiting for me with a scar and a smile and a martini in her hand. But if I fuck with things, maybe I don't get that dream. Maybe I only get the one that ends in that flash of white light and it never goes beyond that.
Maybe it's destiny, if there is such a thing. He's not sure. He's not sure of anything and now he's just swept up in it all, like a shell on a stormy beach. Sucked out to sea, sucked into the water, along for the ride, helpless to stop it. All he can do is what he can do. He opted not to change his past when he had the chance, and now... well, now he's paying, and so is everyone else.
Shit.
Julia looks up at him. "You won't need all those weapons if we run away together, you know that."
The time for that has come and gone, and both of them know it. Too little too late; too much else at stake. It's just that Julia... she doesn't deserve to die. But if he changes things -- tries to change things -- what other repercussions will it have? So he loads the rifle, tests it.
"You're staying." There's no surprise in her voice, not a damn bit. "Then I'll stay, too. I'll be with you... until the end."
No one's asking her to but it's not like they have a lot of choice: the place is surrounded. Standing, he spreads the slats of the Venetian blinds with the tip of one finger and one finger only. It's exactly what he thought. This is another setup. Raising the rifle, he gives Julia an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm sorry." He's sorry for so many things, he can't even begin to count them. "I'm going to make a bit of a scene."
It's then that things happen in a jumble: a bomb explodes down the street; the front window to the shop shatters; a Syndicate guy bursts through the front door of the shop. The luxury of being able to make choices has just been taken away from all of them. He pushes Julia through the back door, shoots at the guy by the door, does a quick head count: there are one two three of them and that's just the beginning. Together, he and Julia race up the stairs, dodging bullets. There's a low roof outside from the building next door; he knows this place. He knows it well, just like he knows -- knew -- Annie well; pushing open the door, he steps through but not before taking out the guy who's followed them up the stairs. The same guy who burst in the front door.
Spike has no fucking idea where the other two are. He wishes more than anything that he could remember from last time, but it's going too fast; it's all a damn blur. As they step out onto the rooftop, there are... fuck, they're surrounded. Above, behind, below: these guys aren't fucking around. As they step out, he yells at Julia to fucking get down and fires at a guy coming through the door behind her: two down.
This can't be déjà vu: it's too real, too vivid, too much in his memory. The way Julia falls to the ground, gun in her hand. The Syndicate asshole firing at them from the street below, using his car for cover. The way he himself falls to the ground, just out of sight, reloading that rifle.
And then... Julia stands.
(no no no no, fuck, no)
Dizzy, she rubs her forehead, staggers a little.
(goddammit, Julia, I told you to stay down and I meant it)
And it's times like this he curses the everloving shit out of that fake eye of his because it sees things too damn clearly and makes him remember and remember and remember when all he wants to do is forget, and he raises the rifle to that bastard behind her on the stairs and fires but he's too late, too fucking late, and Julia falls and it takes forever.
Forever, and the whole arc of her body meeting the ground (click) and the flock of doves that fly off when she lands (click) and the rain washing down on them (click) and the sight of the asshole who shot her crumpling and dying (click) takes too long and she's there, sprawled out (click) before he can even call her name.
"Julia!"
It's like the first time, and the time in the bar, and now again and there's no stopping to think about how cruel or unfair fate is: there's only this understanding in his gut that she's dying. He's by her side in a heartbeat, turns her over: no one gets to leave Julia face down in the fucking rain. No matter what, no one gets to leave her like that.
Her eyes only open again so very briefly to meet his, the words it's all a dream barely even audible before she's gone.
Yeah, just a dream.
Fuck you, universe.
