Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

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And since you know you cannot see yourself,
so well as by reflection, I, your glass,
will modestly discover to yourself,
that of yourself which you yet know not of.
Julius Caesar, Act 1 Scene 2

Xander leaned across and planted a swift kiss on a mouth open in shock, pulling back before he got lost in the feel of satin soft skin against his lips.

"You have no idea what I see when I look at you. You think I see a cold, harsh, punk who doesn't give a damn? No. I see the beauty in you, the caring in you. I see the loneliness, the love, the need to have someone to call your own, someone who'll call you theirs in turn. I want to be that someone, Spike. Let me be that someone..."

I have immortal longings in me.
"Antony and Cleopatra", Act 5 scene 2

It was a conversation Xander could only imagine having in the dark, curled beneath the bedclothes with his lover in his arms. He'd thought long and hard about what to say if Spike came out and asked. He never thought he'd be the one to voice forbidden words.

"It's been on my mind since Jesse died. Since Angel proved a vampire could be more than death and fangs, I've wondered... And then there was you and your love for Dru. And now there's us, and the choice is easy. Make me yours, Spike. Let me love you forever. Turn me."

The sands are number'd that make up my life.
Henry VI, Part 3, Act 1, Scene 4

...so I decided to write you instead. I'm sending everything to you, G-Man, (and I'm not apologising for that, either) because I know you'll be there for my girls to cry on when they learn why I won't be around any more. Spike didn't talk me into anything, I swear. I asked him, and the truth is, he turned me down at first. He said I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but I learned a lot from those books you never believed I actually read. He understands now.

So...

This is the last will and testament of..."

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5

One hundred years and never a night apart. Two halves made whole, two hearts unbeating, one soul shared between them both. They lived well in the darkness, kept each other safe from harm. They watched as all they'd known slowly turned to dust and faded memories, but never once regretted what they'd done, though tears were spilt. They honoured long gone friends and watched their progeny grow up, so sure the bedtime stories were all make-believe and jest. They made their presence felt wherever demons roamed the earth. They revelled in the violence and the blood.

Their love was true.