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Domestic Bliss 30/30
Domestic Bliss 30/30

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spike/Riley
Setting: LA. Post NFA
Final word count: approx 69,000
Summary: Riley shows up in LA. Bumps into Spike. Demon-hunting and co-habitation ensue.

Previous parts found here

A/N: It's finished. *dances* I actually did it (with much last minute revision and self-doubt). Thank you so much to those of you who have expressed an interest in this story as I've been writing -- You Glorious Few^TM, you know who you are ♥. Thank you for reading and commenting and cheering me on. Thank you for sticking with me for two years and putting up with the long breaks between chapters. Thank you for rooting for Spike and Riley through thick and thin. You kept me going and made me smile. A lot. Thank you :)



Riley slots his key in the door and takes a deep breath, the moment suddenly huge. The key turns and the door swings open, creaking a little and banging off the inside wall, adding to the dent in the plaster, same as always, like nothing has changed. Stepping over the threshold is harder than he was expecting. There's nothing to tell him if this is a trespass or a homecoming. He has no idea what comes next.

There's a low-lying haze of smoke hanging in the apartment, as though the air hasn't been moved around in a while. The television is on, showing an old episode of Frasier, the sound turned down low. Part of Riley wants to smile -- Spike always did have a thing for Daphne -- but his face doesn't want to work that way right now.

Riley walks slowly through the apartment, an intruder in his own home. Except it's not his home. It never really was. It's been a week since he was last here. A week spent sitting in his cheap motel room, fingering the slowly healing bitemark on his throat. A week of broken sleep and nightmares that flicker behind his eyelids even after he wakes. A week since he last looked in the mirror. A week of abandoned meals and too much to drink. A week of staring at his phone for hours on end, running his thumb over and over the name on the screen, thinking of blood and endless screams and last goodbyes. A week of never being brave enough to make the call.

He rode with Spike in the van Angel sent, elbowed out of the way by the team of Wolfram & Hart medics who put Spike back together and pumped him full of fresh human blood. Riley had been treated as a secondary concern. He accepted their ministrations, barely noticing as his throat was bandaged, an IV hooked up to his arm. Whatever drugs they gave him, it was enough to sand the sharp edges off his shock, and he sank into his exhaustion, fading to black on the gurney in the back of the van.

He woke later in one of the medical rooms in the Wolfram & Hart buildings with no way of telling how long he'd been there. He was alone in a dark room, the hospital tang of antiseptic pervading the air.

He tried to sit up -- had to get to Spike, had to make sure he was okay -- and it was only then that he noticed the dark figure in the corner of the room.

"So this was your big plan," Angel said from the shadows, emanating softly spoken menace. "This is how you use him."

"This isn't how it was supposed to go," Riley said, the understatement a physical ache in his chest. It was hard to keep his focus on Angel in the half-light. His vision was playing tricks on him, shadows dancing, grey on black.

He got the impression that underneath it all Angel was uncomfortable, that he resented Riley for making him be there. Knowing Angel and the people he kept around him -- all those fallen soldiers -- the room probably held a lot of bad memories. Riley had no wish to be there either. He didn't want to answer to Angel, and hated feeling like he owed the vampire anything else.

He just wanted to go to Spike.

"The doctors said you'll be fine. Make sure and drink plenty of fluids," Angel said with just an edge of bitterness, and Riley wanted to cringe. Wanted to cover his scars, wanted to hide away from all the things Angel wasn't saying. All the things Angel would be able to tell about him just because Angel was a vampire, and because Angel was far from stupid.

"I want you out of here," Angel said flatly. There was no inflection, no heat, but it licked a trickle of fear down Riley's spine regardless. Whatever Angel's motives were, it was clear that he still held some semblance of loyalty to Spike. Or perhaps it was something else. Some sense of family or ownership that Riley could never hope to understand.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until I know he's--"

"You think he wants you here? After what you did?"

"I need to know he doesn't--"

"This isn't about what you need."

"Has he woken up? Said anything? Is he going to be okay?"

Angel walked slowly past the foot of Riley's bed, a lion prowling his cage, and suddenly the room was small and ominous.

"You should be more concerned about yourself," Angel said, his eyes hooded, his mouth a grim, flat line. "They've given you a clean bill of health. If you want to keep it that way, I suggest you leave. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere until I've--"

Angel closed the distance between them so fast it took Riley's breath away. He growled through his fangs, his hand clamped tight around Riley's throat with no care for Riley's bandaged wound. "You have no place here. Not after what you did." He shoved Riley hard enough that he fell back onto his bed. "Now get out."

Riley dressed with shaking hands and stooped shoulders, feeling light-headed and not quite there. He tried to stand tall, but had to suffer through the indignity of Angel watching him while he shuffled back into his ruined clothes, filthy and stiff with dried blood.

He paused in the doorway with his back to Angel.

"Thank you for coming to get him," he said, sure that it would be just as hard for Angel to hear as it was for Riley to say it. "Tell him..."

But he didn't finish, realising the futility of expecting Angel to pass on any message, knowing that there were some things that could only be said face to face.

He finds Spike sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, his legs splayed out in front of him, staring blankly at the opposite wall. He's barefoot and the soles of his feet are filthy. There's over an inch of ash clinging to the end of the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, and he has an overflowing ashtray balanced on one thigh. It takes him a moment to blink and look up when Riley's presence seeps into his consciousness. He scrambles to his feet, knocking over the ashtray in his haste, and for a moment it looks like he's about to reach out, to say something, to come closer, but he catches himself and stays where he is. He wraps his arms around his torso, holding himself together, and he squints through the smoke, waiting to hear what Riley has to say.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing, the immediate thing, the words just falling out of Riley without thought, because he's been weighed down by them all week, a skipping record of apology playing inside his head. He jams his hands deep in his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting. "For everything. I wanted to come and see you, but I didn't know if... if I'd be welcome. Angel. He said. He said you..."

Spike doesn't say anything, just watches him, dragging on his cigarette and breathing deep. It's quiet enough that Riley can hear the crackle of burning paper, the whisper as the tobacco catches.

"Yeah," Riley says softly, staring at the floor, embarrassed, because his excuses are feeble and he knows it.

The silence is awkward, painful. Riley is stretched tight and thin. He wants to shy away from this awful scrutiny, but more than that there's a terrible urge to run his hands over Spike, to check every inch of him, to make sure that he's whole and real and Spike.

"You didn't know it would work out like that," he says eventually, because he has to say something. "Did you?"

Spike lets out a soft little snort of amusement, raising a thick cloud of white smoke. "Has to be wood to dust a vampire, or didn't they teach you that in Demon Slaying 101?" His voice is low and coarse when he speaks, like he's been living on nothing but whisky and cigarettes for the past week.

"Yeah, but you still didn't know that you'd survive it. You had no idea."

Spike just shrugs. "I didn't get the science."

"How could you do that?" Riley grinds out, taking a step closer before he can stop himself. He didn't come here to argue, knows he hasn't got the right, but now that Spike is standing in front of him being goddamn flippant about it, bitter, impotent anger is surging up inside Riley, because Spike shouldn't have done it. Spike should never have put himself at risk like that.

"How could I do that?" Spike snaps, his eyes glittering. He pitches his cigarette into the sink where it goes out with a hiss. "You come here to have a go, is that it? Because you can just turn around and march right the fuck back out of here if you have."

"I fucked up," Riley retorts, and it's both an admission and a plea for Spike to hear him out. "I get that. I was cruel, and stupid, and I put the mission ahead of everything else. I expected you just to go along with it because I couldn't even see past it, and I fucked up. But I..." And this is where he falters. This is where he falls apart, because he's the one who brought Spike along for the hellride. He's the one who started this thing between them. He's the one who made mistake after selfish, greedy mistake, and he's the one who nearly got Spike killed.

And for that, he'll never forgive himself.

"I never wanted to see you hurt like that."

"Hurt? That's rich."

"How could you do it?" Riley asks, softer this time. "Tell me." He tilts his head, ducking down a little, looking for the eye contact that Spike is denying him, because this has been eating him up inside.

There's only silence from Spike for a long time. The small, tinny sound of canned laughter filters through from the next room.

"I couldn't let you go," Spike says dully, speaking so quietly Riley has to strain to hear him. "There was no easy way out, but I couldn't let you go. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm so sorry," Riley breathes.

Spike turns his face away. "Stop it. Just stop."

Miles separate them across the kitchen. Riley wants to touch. He wants to fall back into what they've always done, showing Spike how he feels and what he wants without ever really talking about it. Trying to explain himself like this, he feels like a blunt instrument. But to touch Spike now... Riley feels like he's lost the right.

"What you said."

"I say lots of things."

"Spike. That thing. That thing you said."

"About you being a selfish git?"

"No. Before that."

"Oh. About you being a stupid bastard."

"After that."

"About how you needed me to save the day, and how you couldn't have done it without me?"

"I never said that."

"You'd lost a lot of blood. Bit delirious, most likely."

Riley doesn't want this. Doesn't want Spike to resort to this. To skirting around the truth, hiding behind his words, dodging the issue, because the way things are right now, if Spike pushes him away and Riley lets him do it, it'll be the end.

Riley's tired of not being able to say what he wants. Because he wants Spike. Wants him so badly he can't breathe. There's a fist around his heart, clenched tight, and he has to do this. Has to be brave, because he can't stand the thought of losing Spike again.

He has to at least try.

"You said a lot of very complimentary things about me," Spike is saying, rattling off the words, letting them fill all the empty spaces between them because it's easier that way. Spike is always trying to make it easier and Riley's sick of it. "All of them true, I might add. I could list them if you like. Like when you said that I had the biggest--"

"Love," Riley says, strained and unhappy, because this isn't funny, nothing about this is funny, and because he has to. He has to be brave. He has to know. "You said it was love."

That shuts Spike up, and he looks down at his hands, his nails black with polish, smudged and chipped. He glances up to give Riley a flashfire little grin, but it's awkward. There's no humour in it.

"'Spose reminding you that I never wanted to get into this would be in bad taste right about now."

"Were you just saying it because you thought you wouldn't be coming back?"

"No," Spike says, more forcefully than Riley had been expecting, looking up and meeting his eye, steady and unwavering. "Never that. That's not my style."

"So then you meant it?" Riley says softly, daring to hope.

"Look. Just forget it. You don't have to say anything. It's not... You don't owe me anything."

"I owe you everything. Everything." Riley steps in closer, his breathing patchy and shallow, but he stops just short of touching Spike. "I want... Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Riley," Spike says, curling Riley's name into a breathless little plea, like he thinks this is a bad idea, like he knows he doesn't have the strength to say no.

Riley's hand is trembling when he touches Spike's face, fingertip-light, cradling his jaw, running his thumb under one high cheekbone. His breath catches. His chest is tight, his whole body tingling.

"Spike," he's murmuring, the words tumbling out of their volition. "Let me. Let me, please. Don't. Just. Let me."

Spike turns his face away, but he doesn't go far. He looks pained, his eyes fluttering closed when Riley's thumb brushes the corner of his mouth. Spike turns towards him, a tiny little movement, small enough to be inadvertent, but Riley takes it as an invitation. He shuffles in closer, moving slow and gentle and scared, and he touches their mouths together. He tastes the sharp bite of tobacco, and he keeps it chaste, breathing Spike in, trying to say everything he doesn't have the words for.

His hand drops to Spike's shoulder, absently tracing the soft skin just above where the collar of Spike's shirt gapes open. When Spike sucks in a little breath and pulls away, Riley sways into it, not wanting it to end, not wanting to lose this tenuous connection, so scared that at any second Spike is going to come to his senses and kick Riley out into the street. Case closed, no more second chances, no more Spike and Riley.

Spike raises his shoulders sharply, shrugging off Riley's touch. Riley glances down and sees why. Sees the tail ends of the scars trailing out from under Spike's shirt. Riley goes very still, seeing all his mistakes written on Spike's skin. He starts to unbutton Spike's shirt with shaking hands, needing to see the damage done, but Spike grabs his hands and holds them still.

"I'm so sorry," Riley says, his voice cracking.

"Stop. Shush now. It's okay. It's nothing. It'll be gone before you know it."

Riley shakes his head, swiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand, because if he starts crying now, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to stop. He goes for Spike's buttons again, determined, and this time Spike lets him.

Spike's chest is a mess of broken skin. The scars look old, healed over, but still bruised and vivid and ugly, clear reminders of everything Spike went through. Every misery, every torment, every sacrifice. Riley remembers unbroken skin, pale and smooth over hard muscle. This... this is a cruel joke. This is an impossibility, because Spike doesn't ever take this long to heal. Riley has watched Spike's skin knit back together in the past, little cuts and bruises melting away under his watchful gaze. Spike is forever young and beautiful. He was never meant to look like this.

"No," Riley says, shaking his head. "It'll never go away. I'll never forget what you did for me. Never." He apologises again, over and over, a litany of regret.

"Don't. Riley. Don't, pet. It's okay. Don't."

"Why don't you hate me? I don't understand. How can you even--"

He's cut off when Spike kisses him, holding Riley where he wants him, kissing him hard and messy and desperate. Riley thinks maybe Spike's just doing it to shut him up, but he doesn't care. He'll take what he can get.

"I do," he says when they break apart, his arms wrapped tight around Spike's waist, keeping him close enough that they're breathing the same air. "I mean, I want."

Spike doesn't get it and gives a tiny shake of his head, frowning his confusion.

"I don't even know how to say it," Riley says. "I don't know how to explain so you'll get it." He swallows past the lump in his throat. "I'm a little terrified over here."

"Try me."

"Okay. I..." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm staying. I mean, that's what I want. If that's okay. I want to stay. I'd really like to stay. With you."

"Yeah," Spike says slowly, like he thinks Riley's testing him. "I'd like that."

"I want to be here. With you. And I want to do a lot of this. All the time. Like, a lot of this."

"Okay."

"And I don't want to fight any demons for a while. For about a year. Or, you know, at least a couple of months."

"Okay."

"And I want to sleep. A lot. With you."

"Okay."

Spike touches Riley's face, smoothing over the week's worth of stubble that's well on its way to becoming a scruffy beard. Riley closes his eyes and nudges into it, soaking up the offered comfort like a sponge. He realises he's shaking, that his lungs aren't working right. He doesn't deserve this, hasn't earned it, but Spike looks sincere, looks like he actually wants Riley to stick around.

"Okay? You're serious? You really want that?" Riley whispers, because this is everything. This is everything he wants, and the thought of actually getting it is almost too much.

Spike just nods, a tiny, uneven little gesture, and it flips something painful in Riley's chest.

"How?" he asks, his voice wavering. "How can you even want me here?"

"Such an idiot," Spike says fondly. "I told you. I love you. That doesn't go away. Not ever."

Riley whimpers, a pained little sound torn from somewhere deep inside, and he kisses Spike again. He tries to remember to be careful, but he needs to be closer, always closer, and Spike ends up pushed back against the counter, so he slides up onto it and lets Riley between his thighs. Riley's hands are still shaking as they settle on Spike's hips, gripping tightly, never wanting to let go. He keeps making needy little sounds in the back of his throat as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Spike grips Riley's shirt and tucks his heels behind Riley's knees, and this is finally enough to loosen the knot of tension in Riley's chest, because Spike doesn't need to hold on so tight. Riley isn't going anywhere.

"Gonna make it up to you," he whispers, touching their foreheads together. "I swear."

Spike looks down at his hands resting on Riley's stomach, like that's where his answers lie. Riley watches the dark of fan of Spike's eyelashes over his pale skin, the hollow of his cheeks as he works up to whatever it is he wants to say.

"That girl you kissed," he says, and glances up, his eyebrows raised just a little. "The vamp. She's dead, yeah?"

It's absolutely the last thing that Riley was expecting, and he isn't prepared for the little spear of guilt that skewers right through him. "Yeah. Yeah, she's... I staked her."

"That's all right then. Otherwise I'd have strung the bitch up."

Riley lets out a shocked bark of laughter. "You are jealous."

"Nah. Just... Nobody ever..." Spike sighs slowly, and it's all right there on the surface for Riley to see. All Spike's longing, all his uncertainty. "Just making sure."

Riley nods, breathless. There's so much in the way that Spike is looking at him. Riley wants more, wants it all, and he kisses Spike again, pushing into it a little too hard, trying to get ever closer. Spike hisses like he's in pain and Riley jumps back, but Spike hooks a leg around the back of Riley's thighs and traps him there.

"Sorry. Sorry. Don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Spike says, sounding so sure. "Just, not the kitchen again, huh?"

Riley nods, taking a couple of baby steps back, but keeps his body in close, making Spike smile because Riley really hasn't moved at all. Riley latches onto the smile and lets it give him hope.

"I didn't think I'd ever have this again," he admits. He lays his hand on Spike's chest, clenching his teeth at the feel of mutilated skin under his palm, his guilt still burning a hole in the pit of his stomach. "I thought this was over."

"Yeah," Spike says softly. "Yeah, me too."

He runs a light touch over the dark circles under Riley's eyes. Riley smiles sadly, because yeah, he's exhausted. He hasn't been getting more than a hour or two of sleep a night, but Spike looks pretty terrible too.

"We should sleep," Riley suggests. "You want to sleep?"

Spike slides off the counter and the two of them sway together, holding each other up.

Spike nods. "I could sleep."

Spike leads the way to his bedroom. Riley hooks two fingers over the waistband of Spike's jeans -- trying not to be alarmed at the jut of his hipbones, the way his jeans are loose and trailing on the ground -- and follows close behind.

They crawl into Spike's bed together, not even bothering to get undressed. Riley keeps shifting, giving little guiding touches, until he has Spike flush against him, strong and familiar even under the layers of their clothes. It's only when their hips connect that Riley realises he's hard, almost as an afterthought, and he gasps, his body thrumming with need. He tries to ignore it, but Spike is insistent against him, nudging up against his jaw.

"What do you want?" Riley murmurs. "Tell me."

"Anything," Spike says. "Anything."

"Don't want to hurt you."

Spike shakes his head, like the thought hadn't even occurred to him, and they trade soft kisses back and forth. Clothes get pushed up and out of the way, jeans undone with clumsy fingers, and Spike tugs him in close, groaning Riley's name so sweetly as they rock against one another. Riley rolls them so Spike is sprawled out on top of him, wanting the weight, wanting to feel pinned down. Spike's hips stutter, his blunt teeth grazing Riley's shoulder.

It doesn't last long, both of them too greedy for it after a week apart. Riley loses it first, turning his face into the pillow, his vision whiting out, feeling Spike tense above him, the splash of Spike's come on his stomach. He doesn't let Spike go, just holds him there. Spike burrows in closer, breathing just as heavily as Riley, and he pushes his face into the curve Riley's throat, pressing soft little kisses over the aching bitemark.

He's mumbling something against Riley's skin and it takes a moment for the sounds to filter through the haze for Riley to realise he's whispering apologies.

"Don't," Riley says, much more sharply than he means, pulling back to look at Spike who's watching him with wide eyes. "Don't ever apologise for that. Not ever. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Riley kisses him before Spike can pull away. Spike doesn't say anything, but he accepts Riley's kisses, lets Riley hold him close and sweep his hands slowly up and down Spike's spine until Spike finally relaxes and lies boneless against him, just letting Riley do what he wants.

Riley pulls his t-shirt over his head and uses it to clean them up. He doesn't do a great job, but he's too tired to care, and Spike isn't complaining, pushing his hands out of the way so he can pull Riley in close, tugging blankets and sheets up to cover them both. Riley still has his boots on, tangled in the sheets, but the two of them are together, warm in their little cocoon, and that's all he needs. He tucks his chin over Spike's shoulder, hiding his face away from the world. Exhaustion washes over him in waves, but he's too strung out to fall asleep right away. They lie there for a long time, drifting, trading soft touches, reassurances that the other is still there, lying so still and heavy that Riley can't tell where he ends and Spike begins.

When he jerks awake and opens his eyes, he's disoriented, can't remember where he is, but then Spike shifts beside him, still asleep, curled up against Riley's side. He sighs and frowns in his dreams, making little grasping motions over Riley's skin, looking for something to hold on to. Riley wraps an arm around Spike and spoons up behind him, laying his cheek on Spike's shoulder. Spike settles his hand on Riley's hip, sneaking under the waistband of his open jeans, curling his fingers around Riley's hipbone before he stills.

The tension Riley has been carrying around with him for longer than he can remember is abating. He can breathe again. This is where he is meant to be.

They sleep sixteen hours straight, and shuffle bleary-eyed to the kitchen on a mission for coffee. While they're waiting for it to brew, Spike roots through the cupboards, looking for something for Riley to eat, and Riley heats up some blood. It's Spike's last bag, and Riley is already making plans to go out later to pick up some more when Spike pushes a mug of steaming black coffee at him and mutters something about bare cupboards and a pizza delivery place he knows that caters to vampires.

Riley smiles and cradles his coffee in both hands, watching Spike let out a jaw-cracking yawn and gulp at his blood. Riley's focus is on the skin visible where Spike's unbuttoned shirt gapes open. He's not sure if it's his imagination, but it looks a little better today, the scars less prominent. He resolves to make Spike drink as much blood as they can get their hands on until the scars are nothing but a distant memory. The thought of offering his own pops unbidden into his head, but he dismisses it. There are too many reasons why that's a bad idea right now.

They end up sprawled on the couch in front of the television, thighs pressed together, waiting for their blood and pizza to arrive. Riley's stomach wakes up at the thought of food and for the first time in a long time, he feels ravenous. He ends up hopped up on too much coffee, chewing on the side of his thumbnail and tapping his foot restlessly, trying his damnedest not to think about spicy sausage and extra cheese and failing miserably. Loud growls and rumbles emanate from his empty stomach until Spike rolls his eyes and pushes Riley back on the couch. He tosses a cushion over Riley's stomach, then crawls up between his thighs and lies on it, getting comfortable, his head pillowed on Riley's shoulder.

Riley freezes in place, his hands hovering in the air. He swallows, staring down at the blond head tucked under his chin, feeling the urge to start saying all the things he's not ready for.

"One word about cuddling and I'll eat your whole bloody pizza," Spike says, and changes the channel.

Riley learns a million new ways to touch Spike that he never let himself have before. He accepts Spike's slow, tentative caresses in return, the way Spike will stroke over his skin, enjoying him, like they have all the time in the world. He learns that Spike loves to lounge on the couch, using Riley like a human pillow, soaking up his warmth like a cat, but if Riley calls him on it, he'll deny it to his last breath, sulking for hours, disappearing to the kitchen to make endless cups of tea or going outside to smoke half a dozen cigarettes in a row.

Riley waits as long as he can, but always follows him out, stealing sips from his sugary tea, or sitting on the little step beside their front door and watching Spike smoke, breathing in the sharp-sweet scent of tobacco from his skin when he's done.

He catches Spike watching him, not always shying away when he realises he's been caught. Watching Riley with a thoughtful expression on his face, like he hasn't quite figured out yet what this is, but wanting to spend every minute of every day figuring it out. Riley is sure he's just as bad, following Spike around like they're attached by an invisible string, but Spike never seems to mind. Whatever personal bubble Riley had before this, it's expanded. Now it's big enough for two.

Sex isn't something that happens straight away, but the want is there, the desire building, and when Spike slides inside him -- Riley's hair still wet from his shower, Spike's face damp from licking the water droplets off his skin -- he can see it in Spike's eyes before he says it. It's all right there, shining so bright and pure in Spike's face that it hurts to look at it. Spike gets lost inside those moments, and it's then that Riley kisses the words of love out of his mouth. It's then that Riley lets himself believe.

He's still scared. Scared that Spike will come to his senses. Scared that if this goes wrong he'll never recover from it. Scared that if he tells Spike he loves him, Spike will think he's doing it out of obligation, just another thing Riley's doing because he hurt Spike.

He's scared because he's never wanted anything this badly. Never had anyone love him like this. He's scared that he doesn't deserve it. Scared he isn't ready.

But he feels it, all the time, like a tickle behind his breastbone. Every time Spike reaches for him. Every time Spike asks him a question like he cares about the answer. Every time Spike teases him, or fucks him, or looks up at him and smiles.

He's been back a week, and it feels like a lifetime. Feels like no time at all. Riley knows that he's home.

Spike is with him, the two of them slouched low on the couch, TV off, curtains wide open, their bare feet up on the window ledge, watching clouds drift past their own personal scrap of smoggy LA sky, passing a single bottle of beer back and forth between them.

Spike's hand is on Riley's thigh, curled loosely around the muscle like it belongs there.

"I never said thank you," Riley says out of the blue, after they've been quiet together for a long time.

Spike glances over, and he smiles, then goes back to staring up at their little patch of sky. There aren't any stars visible past the smog, but it's pretty and it's peaceful and it's theirs.

That's more than enough.







-end-




Midnight rang out like a bell
My heart sunk like a ship
Deliver me from this hell before I slip.
Well my lungs can no longer breathe
And my legs can no longer run
And the only thing I need's for this day to be done.

And the bluebird can sing
But the crow's got the soul
And I'm a dog among kings with no self-control
And the only thing left is to try to live.
The sins on my back
No one could forgive.

The sunshine is behind us
And the storm is rolling in
And we need something to remind us how to feel again.

I'm out on a limb
But before that bough breaks
I'll have one final memory of all my mistakes.
When midnight fell it dropped like a stone.
I've got a short fuse to burn
And I'm a long way from home.

~ Midnight, William Elliot Whitmore


Download: Midnight by William Elliot Whitmore