"I'm Counting on It"
by Zekkers
zekkers@juno.com
Summary: Post-Gift, but not about Buffy. WARNING: Character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Heck- if it was mine, Buffy wouldn't be coming back- not that I don't like her, but bringing her back seems so cheap, somehow.
Spike was the first to notice, but it was weeks before I could bring myself to thank him. It was too fresh, too clear, too raw to bring it up before then. I try not to think of why he knew that something wasn't right... what senses, what knowledge a vampire has that a human normally doesn't, and how they learn that knowledge... but, the past is the past. You can't change it, you can only forget, move on, or learn from it.
I'd rather forget.
SHE was in my arms, still dazed from the fight. We were all there, staring down at Buffy. Her body, broken on the rocks. Just lying there, in some awful, horrible parody of peace. Spike was howling. In grief, I suppose. I won't judge what he felt for Buffy. Not anymore. He had every right to be torn up about it.
The rest of us were quiet. Real quiet. Even Dawn, in all her pain, wasn't making any noise. We were shocked. I mean- she couldn't be dead, could she? It just wasn't REAL- you know?
I guess that's why Spike could cry then. He knew death, knew what it looked like, smelt like, what it meant. Death was very, very REAL to him- he knew it well. The rest of us where in denial. Numb.
Spike quit making noise. Just shut off, like someone hit the power switch. I know I turned to look, I think the others did too.
He was still kneeling there, eyes wide, jaw clenched shut. The muscles in his jaw were bulging out, like ropes. I thought he was going to crack his jaw, holding it in like that. I think he might have been trembling, I'm not sure. He forced his eyes shut, shook his head, looked around.
He didn't look at Buffy again.
He saw Dawn. Cocked his head, watching her. "You're hurt, little bit." He said. Clearly, not loud. But we all jumped anyway. Willow began stammering about getting an ambulance, Giles mumbled something as well, everybody started to talk at once. Dawn, Giles, Tara, and Willow, anyway.
I smiled down at HER, resting in my arms. "Hey, we made it. Wanna say 'yes' now?"
SHE smiled up at me. "Yes, I do. Put me down. I want you to kneel and everything."
So... I did. Horrible, I know. To propose right in front of your best friend's... body. But... I dunno. Something was pushing me. I'm glad I did, even if it looked bad.
Right after, I noticed Spike watching HER. Something was in his eyes- I'm not sure what that expression meant. I still don't want to ask. SHE was sitting on a pile of rubble, right where I had put her. Maybe she was swaying, a little tipsy. I thought it was shock. We were all... shocked, right then.
Spike cleared his throat. "Whelp. Make the doctors look at your woman."
There were sirens in the distance, coming closer.
"Huh?" I asked.
Spike was getting up, looking around. "Look. I can't stick around, looking like this." He growled. That's when I noticed the growing bloodstain on his chest. The ambulance workers would bother him about that, I knew. "Just be sure," he said, leaning over, "that they check her over real good, okay?"
"Uh. Okay."
"I'll clean up. Meet you at the 'ospital." Spike called out to Dawn, who was surrounded by two witches and a Watcher. Giles looked up, nodding once before returning to Dawn.
And that's what happened. The ambulance came, they took Dawn, looked at HER as well. Said she needed checking out. I rode in the back for both of them, together. The others followed, and...
SHE was hurt, hurt bad... It... The rocks... They had fallen on her... doctor said it was internal bleeding. In her head. In the brain. They needed to operate, they had to try and repair the damage. It became a blur then. Waiting. Pacing. Dawn was stitched up. Spike showed up.
I couldn't honestly tell you what any of them looked like, what they did during those hours. If they cried, if they sat there like stones, if they were pale. Willow told me later that Spike was pale. Tara added that they did a few small spells, and got him some human blood while they were in the hospital. Stole it from the blood bank. He was hurt pretty bad.
SHE came out of the operation. The surgeon pulled me aside... I won't go into detail. There wasn't anything they could do. Hurt too deep inside her brain, they said. They had hoped... but... Have to cut too much up to get to it. I held her. She woke, we talked a little. I didn't tell her. She had been so afraid of death, I didn't want her scared.
She fell asleep whispering about white weddings and babies.
She... didn't... wake... up again.
I held her, even as that machine made that horrible long beep. I held her, and the nurses just turned it off. I held her, even as the heat leached out of her, even as I heard Spike yelling in the hallway.
"Don't make me go get 'em. Hates me enough, he does."
There was silence, and Spike came in. Growling. "Whelp." He growled. He looked at me, at HER.
"I know, Spike. But... can I just wait here a moment? I just want a moment longer." I didn't want to move. I knew... I knew that She... That She was dead... but if I moved, then life had to move on. I'd have to go on living without her. If I moved, it would start to hurt, start being real.
But as long as I stayed there, just holding her, just staying right there, not moving, then I didn't have to feel. Not yet, anyway. The shock and the numbness could continue. I wanted that. Wanted that perfectly endless moment, the moment right after- were The Horrible Thing That Just Happened isn't quite real yet.
He sighed. "Love to let you, I do. But..." He sighed again. "It... look. It really doesn't work that way, Xander. You gotta move." He looked sad. I was blinking, he had actually used my name.
I got up, and felt my life dividing into two sections. The two sides of my life- Before She died, and After. Before that night, and after. The whole night itself is nothing but a big blur in my head, a big fuzzy blur with razor sharp edges that cut at me. Making me remember- the last thing She said before we left to fight, the last time we made love, the first thing I did when I left her, lying like a limp rag in the hospital bed, the expressions on our faces that haunted our little group of friends forever after.
I'm a mess, and I know it. I'm staring into an empty bottle of whiskey right now, tilting it back and forth, trying to remember what Spike and I did last night. Patrol, and then back here, to my place, to drink till we couldn't stand anymore. I think that was it, anyway. I think.
Spike moves across the room, walking closer. He sits on the couch next to me, taking the bottle away.
"Cor, we are a set, aren't we?"
I only make a little grunt. I don't look at him.
He's taking a swig, putting it down. He leans close, face vamping as he traces one cool finger up and down my neck. "Whelp... aren't you afraid of my anymore?" I think he's whining, almost pleading. My brain fuzzily recalls that he's been like that lately- missing the simple life he used to lead, all death and blood. Missing the 'good ol days' where everything was fun and games. "Aren't you afraid I'll get that chip out and rip you into itty bitty pieces?"
I turn to him, "Spike..." and then I smile, really big and happy, and I know that the happiness doesn't reach my eyes. "Spike, I'm counting on it."
by Zekkers
zekkers@juno.com
Summary: Post-Gift, but not about Buffy. WARNING: Character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Heck- if it was mine, Buffy wouldn't be coming back- not that I don't like her, but bringing her back seems so cheap, somehow.
Spike was the first to notice, but it was weeks before I could bring myself to thank him. It was too fresh, too clear, too raw to bring it up before then. I try not to think of why he knew that something wasn't right... what senses, what knowledge a vampire has that a human normally doesn't, and how they learn that knowledge... but, the past is the past. You can't change it, you can only forget, move on, or learn from it.
I'd rather forget.
SHE was in my arms, still dazed from the fight. We were all there, staring down at Buffy. Her body, broken on the rocks. Just lying there, in some awful, horrible parody of peace. Spike was howling. In grief, I suppose. I won't judge what he felt for Buffy. Not anymore. He had every right to be torn up about it.
The rest of us were quiet. Real quiet. Even Dawn, in all her pain, wasn't making any noise. We were shocked. I mean- she couldn't be dead, could she? It just wasn't REAL- you know?
I guess that's why Spike could cry then. He knew death, knew what it looked like, smelt like, what it meant. Death was very, very REAL to him- he knew it well. The rest of us where in denial. Numb.
Spike quit making noise. Just shut off, like someone hit the power switch. I know I turned to look, I think the others did too.
He was still kneeling there, eyes wide, jaw clenched shut. The muscles in his jaw were bulging out, like ropes. I thought he was going to crack his jaw, holding it in like that. I think he might have been trembling, I'm not sure. He forced his eyes shut, shook his head, looked around.
He didn't look at Buffy again.
He saw Dawn. Cocked his head, watching her. "You're hurt, little bit." He said. Clearly, not loud. But we all jumped anyway. Willow began stammering about getting an ambulance, Giles mumbled something as well, everybody started to talk at once. Dawn, Giles, Tara, and Willow, anyway.
I smiled down at HER, resting in my arms. "Hey, we made it. Wanna say 'yes' now?"
SHE smiled up at me. "Yes, I do. Put me down. I want you to kneel and everything."
So... I did. Horrible, I know. To propose right in front of your best friend's... body. But... I dunno. Something was pushing me. I'm glad I did, even if it looked bad.
Right after, I noticed Spike watching HER. Something was in his eyes- I'm not sure what that expression meant. I still don't want to ask. SHE was sitting on a pile of rubble, right where I had put her. Maybe she was swaying, a little tipsy. I thought it was shock. We were all... shocked, right then.
Spike cleared his throat. "Whelp. Make the doctors look at your woman."
There were sirens in the distance, coming closer.
"Huh?" I asked.
Spike was getting up, looking around. "Look. I can't stick around, looking like this." He growled. That's when I noticed the growing bloodstain on his chest. The ambulance workers would bother him about that, I knew. "Just be sure," he said, leaning over, "that they check her over real good, okay?"
"Uh. Okay."
"I'll clean up. Meet you at the 'ospital." Spike called out to Dawn, who was surrounded by two witches and a Watcher. Giles looked up, nodding once before returning to Dawn.
And that's what happened. The ambulance came, they took Dawn, looked at HER as well. Said she needed checking out. I rode in the back for both of them, together. The others followed, and...
SHE was hurt, hurt bad... It... The rocks... They had fallen on her... doctor said it was internal bleeding. In her head. In the brain. They needed to operate, they had to try and repair the damage. It became a blur then. Waiting. Pacing. Dawn was stitched up. Spike showed up.
I couldn't honestly tell you what any of them looked like, what they did during those hours. If they cried, if they sat there like stones, if they were pale. Willow told me later that Spike was pale. Tara added that they did a few small spells, and got him some human blood while they were in the hospital. Stole it from the blood bank. He was hurt pretty bad.
SHE came out of the operation. The surgeon pulled me aside... I won't go into detail. There wasn't anything they could do. Hurt too deep inside her brain, they said. They had hoped... but... Have to cut too much up to get to it. I held her. She woke, we talked a little. I didn't tell her. She had been so afraid of death, I didn't want her scared.
She fell asleep whispering about white weddings and babies.
She... didn't... wake... up again.
I held her, even as that machine made that horrible long beep. I held her, and the nurses just turned it off. I held her, even as the heat leached out of her, even as I heard Spike yelling in the hallway.
"Don't make me go get 'em. Hates me enough, he does."
There was silence, and Spike came in. Growling. "Whelp." He growled. He looked at me, at HER.
"I know, Spike. But... can I just wait here a moment? I just want a moment longer." I didn't want to move. I knew... I knew that She... That She was dead... but if I moved, then life had to move on. I'd have to go on living without her. If I moved, it would start to hurt, start being real.
But as long as I stayed there, just holding her, just staying right there, not moving, then I didn't have to feel. Not yet, anyway. The shock and the numbness could continue. I wanted that. Wanted that perfectly endless moment, the moment right after- were The Horrible Thing That Just Happened isn't quite real yet.
He sighed. "Love to let you, I do. But..." He sighed again. "It... look. It really doesn't work that way, Xander. You gotta move." He looked sad. I was blinking, he had actually used my name.
I got up, and felt my life dividing into two sections. The two sides of my life- Before She died, and After. Before that night, and after. The whole night itself is nothing but a big blur in my head, a big fuzzy blur with razor sharp edges that cut at me. Making me remember- the last thing She said before we left to fight, the last time we made love, the first thing I did when I left her, lying like a limp rag in the hospital bed, the expressions on our faces that haunted our little group of friends forever after.
I'm a mess, and I know it. I'm staring into an empty bottle of whiskey right now, tilting it back and forth, trying to remember what Spike and I did last night. Patrol, and then back here, to my place, to drink till we couldn't stand anymore. I think that was it, anyway. I think.
Spike moves across the room, walking closer. He sits on the couch next to me, taking the bottle away.
"Cor, we are a set, aren't we?"
I only make a little grunt. I don't look at him.
He's taking a swig, putting it down. He leans close, face vamping as he traces one cool finger up and down my neck. "Whelp... aren't you afraid of my anymore?" I think he's whining, almost pleading. My brain fuzzily recalls that he's been like that lately- missing the simple life he used to lead, all death and blood. Missing the 'good ol days' where everything was fun and games. "Aren't you afraid I'll get that chip out and rip you into itty bitty pieces?"
I turn to him, "Spike..." and then I smile, really big and happy, and I know that the happiness doesn't reach my eyes. "Spike, I'm counting on it."