From Dusk to Dust

Summary: Spike hopes he can fix Buffy's unhappiness.

WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH!

Chapter One

Spike leaned back, his eyes sliding back to Willow as they sat in silence watching his favourite daytime drama, Passions. Willow looked back at him suspiciously and frowned, "Spike, why do you keep looking at me like that?"

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and sighed, "I've been gettin' the bloody courage to ask you a question." She slumped forward and furrowed her brow.

"What is it?" her voice betrayed the fact that she actually cared more than a bit.

Spike rested his forearms on his knees and started to chip off his jet-black nail polish. He kept his eyes downcast and out of her gaze. "Do you ever think about death?"

Willow perked up, "Like dying?" She asked.

Spike chuckled nervously, "Death covered that whole 'dying' part quite nicely."

Willow nodded, "I guess we all do. Just wondering what it will be like when you're gone." The situation was getting incredibly uncomfortable.

"What about suicide? Do you think it would be easier to let your time come or do you feel that you should end it all when you want to?" Spike looked at Willow with pain stricken eyes. Her stomach began to churn.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, if you were to kill yourself, it'd be easier to handle than just waiting around for your time to come. Instead, you make your own time." Willow felt a slash of emotion cut across her chest as he spoke the words.

"Suicide is never the answer," she whispered under her breath. Spike gave a weak chortle.

"What if…sometimes, it's the only choice you have?" Spike bit his bottom lip and stifled back more pain-filled chuckles.

"It's not the only choice, Spike." Willow reached out and placed a hand on his arm, trying to assure him, "It's never a choice."

"What if it's your last resort for… you know… happiness? Shouldn't you…pursue it?" He knitted his brow and sighed, his shoulders slightly slumping forward.

"It doesn't bring happiness, Spike."

"What if it did?" He questioned, "There's no one around that cares for the person enough to worry…" Spike straightened his back and hung his head, "Why don't they?"

"Dawn cares. I care, too." Willow had a small twinge of a pleading tone in her voice.

"You're just saying that because you think I'm goin' to do somethin' rash." He looked over at her knowingly.

Willow raised and eyebrow in question, "If you weren't, why would you be asking any of this?"

Spike let a soft smile spread across his face, "If I were gone…do you think Buffy would be happier?"

Willow gritted her back teeth together, "No."

Spike licked his bottom lip and scoffed, "Why the hell not? I'm the reason her life is so bloody miserable! She hates herself because of me!"

Willow rubbed her delicate fingers gently across his forearm. "You're not the reason, Spike. Buffy is the way she is because she doesn't seize the happiness she does get. She tosses it away and expects more in its place. There is nothing that can replace that kind of feeling," the Wicca reminded him insistently.

Spike looked at her again, "What if me gone…could?"

Willow shook her head, "Spike, you can't help her."

"I could try though, right?" He asked, "Test my theory out and whatnot?"

Willow looked down, "And if it doesn't work?"

Spike took a deep breath and held it in, "If it doesn't work, well…at the very least, I'll be happy, and Buffy won't have a pest trying to profess his love for her."

Willow turned to him, moving her hand off his arm, "Spike, she won't be happy."

"It's worth a shot."

"No, Spike," Willow's eyes pleaded with him not to go through with it, "Your life… your afterlife… isn't just something to be tossed aside like that."

"Then what is it worth?" he asked, a low growl tingeing his voice, "If not a chance for Buffy to be happy—what is it any good for?"

"It's for you," she told him caringly, "For your happiness. You can make Buffy happy and not kill yourself at the same time."

"No," he shook his head violently, "Doesn't work that way, Red. It's one or the other, not both."

"Spike, please don't."

"Fine," he ground his back teeth together then cast a sidelong glance at Willow, "Not now, leastways."

"Do you want me to talk to her?" Willow offered; her hand returned to his upper forearm.

"No," he shook his head again, "Don't. Not about this."

"Spike, she could help."

"How could she help?" he cocked an eyebrow, "Maybe ease my pain? Make the passing quicker?"

"No!" her hand tightened on his arm, "She could help ease the pain, sure, but not… make the passing… quicker."

"Aw well," he shrugged and tilted his head back to glimpse the ceiling before shutting his eyes. "Such is life."

"You're serious about it, aren't you?"

He looked back over at her, "No, not at all," he replied sarcastically while slowly nodding his head, "Actually, yeah. I was plannin' and plottin'. Can't ever be too prepared, right?"

"Spike, if you do—you know—do you want her here?" Willow relinquished her grip on his arm, "For… moral support?"

"No."

"Shall I make sure you'll be left alone?" her face was that of a true friend.

"No," he gave his head a quick shake then looked her straight in the eye, "Just not her."

Willow nodded, biting back a series of tears burning at the rims of her eyes. "What about me?"

"Would you… mind?" he seriously doubted that she would elect to hold his hand while he finished himself off.

"I'd rather you didn't… but… if it means that much to you…" she gave him a faint smile, "I will."

"Thanks, Red," he returned the hesitant grin and put out a quivering hand to finalize their accord.

"Sure," she replied meekly.