Prompt 343- Incorporeal - Title - Incorporeal - BTVS - comlodge
Fandom: BTVS - Angel S5
Summary: Spike's a ghost and it makes him remember.
Word Count: 722
Disclaimer: Do not own them or make a profit.
Being a ghost sucked on so many levels, he couldn't count them. Sure, in the beginning it was fun to glide through the walls; poke fun at Gunn's willy; pop in on Angel and watch the the blood vessel in his great forehead pulse at the intrusion, despite the idiot's attempts to ignore his presence. He'd thought about popping in on the ladies but his Victorian upbringing, reinforced by the bloody soul, wouldn't let him.
Now though, weeks into this non-existence, unable to touch, to interact with Angel's pet humans or get in some violence, which, even in his ghostly state, he still needed, he was beginning to falter. Since the to-do with Pavayne it had been a lonely existence. Popping up to see Fred now and then, just to check on any progress in the, making him a real boy again, department but otherwise ignored. Charlie and the watcher were always busy and Angel simply ignored him. Hell, the cleaner had backed through him the other day. With his sodding cleaning cart! He may as well have faded away.
He was beginning to brood. He knew it. Couldn't make himself care. His incorporeal state had begun to remind him of the not so wonderful times in his life when he had been all but invisible to everyone around him. Starting from his childhood when, like all good little Victorian boys and girls he was seen but not heard by his parents, cared for by nannies and servants. Father was a stern figure, who ruffled his hair and looked over his head to his mother while asking after William's day. He never asked to see William's poems or enquired of the books William read.
He was home schooled by a dour stern old man, who when not sleeping instead of teaching, whacked his knuckles with a ruler for any imagined slight. When he was sent off to school, his classmates ignored the shy, curly headed introvert. He was good at books but hopeless at sports.
Mother saw him. She would sit with him and listen as he read. Then for a time when his sister was ill, he became invisble to her. When his sister died both his parents mourned in their way and it didn't include William even though, he too missed her. When his father died and his mother donned her black mourning dress, he would sit at her feet and read to her and they became a little family of two.
He went down to Oxford to get his letters and he was still shy, immersing himself in literature and poetry, languauges of old and history. He had no friends and passed the days in class or the library, invisible to his classmates unless they wanted to cribb.
Then he had fallen in love with a girl who would not see him, in a circle of friends who thought they saw him and made him a laughing stock because of it. It wasn't until he ran from the party that night, into the arms of a woman who did see him, saw what was inside him, that he felt real. He willinging entered her world and for 100 years he was as real as he had ever been and master of his world. He was seen everywhere he went, the last thing in his victim's eyes.
Then in an instant it was taken away and a piece of plastic and copper once again made him invisible, in between worlds not a man and not a monster. When he'd chosen, yes chosen to help the white hats, he'd been used and still made to stand on the outside watching. The summer he hated to remember. The summer he had stayed and fought alonside them for her memory. For the promise he had made. For penance for his failure to save her. The summer he'd thought he was part of something good. They still ignored him. Excluded him from their lives as though he didn't exist.
Then she came back and made him her dirty little hidden secret. So he fought for his soul to be a man, to be seen for what he really was, to be loved. He died for love, to save the world, for final peace. Now he was back and invisible again. Incorporeal. It wasn't fair.