Le Coeur a Ses Raisons
by
Samantha McCullah
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Le coeur a ses raisons dont le cerveau ne sait nul.
T: 'The heart has its reasons, of which the mind knows nothing.'
-- Blaise Pascal, Pensées
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Everybody's cryin'. That's what I always hate about these things --
Everybody always *bloody* cries. Even me. That's right. Spike, William
the Bloody, cries. Hell, I've lost her, why wouldn't I cry?
You see, when I first came back, we were old enemies again, then we
built a tentative truce, next came a budding friendship, and then I
fell in love. She had fire and spirit and more importantly Angel was
out of the picture, so she was free. I sent her flowers one night but
didn't have the courage to sign that idiot card. If I had.... Instead,
she thought those flowers were from the whelp, Red's friend.
I hate these things, everybody's always crying and usually there's a
church involved, but out of respect, Joyce is holding it outside so
I could attend. So I sit there, waitin' for somebody to get the show
on the road so I can go out and kill someone to drown my sorrow when
my sire shows. He sits next to me like he's my best friend and not
someone whose balls I want to rip off.
"You loved her," he says, lookin' at anything but me. I raise my
eyebrow.
"Duh," I reply; see, I've even picked up her speech patterns.
"Pillock,"
I mutter, knowin' he'll hear it. He just nods and continues to stare
straight ahead. I realize then that he's cryin' which only makes me
want
to laugh. Can you believe it? Laugh at a time like this? I should be
slaughtering the lot of 'em, but she wouldn't have liked that. Instead
I sit there listenin' to Soul-Boy cry.
Finally the priest shows up, deciding to grace the assembled people
with his presence and the fun begins. Somewhere halfway through the
priest's long winded monologue on destiny and fate, I dose off, and
the next thing I know, Peaches is nudging me in the ribs wakin' me
up. I glare at him, but manage to stay a wake. I turn my attention
forward as the priest takes a breath. Both Angel and I lean forward
slightly ready for one wrong word to be uttered, knowing that if it
was, both of up would have been up there rippin' someone's tongue
out.
"Do you Alexander LaVelle Harris take Buffy Anne Summers to be your
lawfully wedded wife?" Angel and I tense, but the boy answers
correctly.
"I do." Both of us are disappointed, me 'cause I just need to hurt
somethin', but then she smiles up at him and I know I wouldn't
actually do anythin' to hurt her. The rest of the ceremony whizzes
by as I wallow in self pity. Until finally it's over; everybody's
left. And I'm all alone. Well, not all alone. Angel's still here.
Which brings up some possibilities we won't go into. Not, at least,
until I'm drunk.
"Hey, Angel?" He turns. "Wanna go get shit-faced drunk?" He nods,
and we leave.
