Captain John Hart sat down on his chair and laughed. He laughed for twenty minutes, and if he didn’t already know he was completely psychotic then he might have worried for his sanity.
What cosmic irony, he thought, what a bloody brilliant joke. “Are you all having a good laugh?” he called out to the room.
No answer came, he was alone.
It was the 51st century, he was Captain John Hart, renegade Time Agent, and he was completely and utterly alone. He got up and made himself a drink.
“You aren’t seriously thinking of going back?” said a voice behind him.
“Oh bloody brilliant,” John muttered, and downed the whiskey.
“He won’t accept it, who you really are, what you really are.”
John turned and faced his company.
“So why are you here, Angel? Powers That Be give you a pass to come and gloat?” he snarled.
“I’m not here. I was dusted centuries ago, remember? I’m just the part of you that doesn’t like yourself very much.”
“Oh, well in that case, piss off then,” he replied. The apparition vanished. “He’s right though; I can’t very well go up to him and say, ‘hey, guess what, I can’t die either cos I’m a vampire!’ That would go down really well,” Spike said to himself, pacing the floor.
He’d spent so long trying to blend in, so much money and effort. Spells to stop him becoming more physically demonic with the passage of time. Technology to make his heart beat again, and to be able to walk in daylight, so that he could fool the world he was human. Fool himself.
And he had fallen in love with Jack, a human, and he had done everything in his power to convince him that he was human too. But now he discovered that Jack was immortal too, and it was all he could do not to burst out laughing, there in the morgue.
If it wasn’t so fucking pathetic, it would be hilarious, he thought.
And now Captain Jack Harkness probably hated Captain John Hart, would probably keep his promise to kill him.
But then, unless he used a stake, he couldn’t actually kill him.
Maybe it was worth a shot.