It was in these moments that Spike was able to share in her madness. Where he could partially see the world in the same sort of chaos and beauty and horror that she did.

His wings still ached, but he was able to stretch them out, flexing them freely, and that felt good. And though she was on top of hers, he could still see them beneath her. He'd not yet touched anyone else's wings, so while she remained entangled around him and he supported himself with one arm, he ran his finger along the feathery edges of her right wing.

And more. He gave her much more. As much as he had in him.