Afterlife Lost

I play with computers for a living. I don't own anything you recognize. I just want a turn to play in the kiddie pool…

Buffy stepped out into the alley behind the Magic Box. She carried with her the miserable, far-away look that had so defined her existence since her resurrection. She had just finished thanking her friends for bringing her back and watching their smiles and tears. At least they could be happy…

Looking up, she noticed Spike leaning against the alley wall, smoking a cigarette.

"Buffy…" Spike began.

"Spike. It's daylight and you're…"

"Not on fire? Sun's low. Is shady enough here," he said, taking a seat on convenient a packing crate. He gestured for the Slayer to take a seat beside him, which she accepted. "I was gonna go in, but I overheard you and the Super-friends sharing a 'special moment' and I came over a bit queasy," he said with a note of mild sarcasm as he threw down the butt of his cigarette. He paused briefly, hoping to get a rise from the woman. Seeing no reaction was in the offing, he continued, "Say, aren't you leaving a hole in the middle of some soggy group hug?"

"I wanted a little time alone."

"Oh. Right then…" Spike stepped toward the mouth of the alley. He nearly stepped into the sunshine before realizing his near-fatal error. With no alternative, he came back to resume his seat.

"That's okay. I can be alone with you here." The Slayer was obviously a million miles away.

"Thanks ever so," said Spike.

"Right."

"Buffy? Slayer? You okay?"

Buffy looked up at the vampire as if seeing him for the very first time.

"Buffy, if you're in—if you're in pain. Or if you need anything… If I can help you…"

"I only wish you could. Wherever I… was… I was happy. At peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was alright. I knew it. Time didn't mean anything. It was as if I had always been there and would always be there. I was warm and I was loved… and I was finished. Complete. I don't understand about dimensions or theology or any of … but I think I was in Heaven."

Spike simply stared at her, taking in the enormity of what she had just confessed.

"And now I'm not."

"Buffy…" began Spike.

"I was torn out of there. My friends pulled me out. And everything here is bright and hard and violent… Everything I feel, everything I touch… this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that… knowing that I've lost him, maybe forever…" She stopped speaking.

Spike looked at the broken Slayer in confusion. "Lost who, luv?"

"I only met one soul while I was… away. We talked for hours at a time. He told me about his life and his family and about how he wished things had turned out differently for him. He composed poetry for me. I don't know if we were together for days or centuries, but it was perfect. I needed him and he needed me. We loved each other more than I thought any two people ever could." Buffy's expression had become wistful as she spoke. She stopped speaking, her face falling into a mask of depression.

She stood up abruptly and started walking out of the alley. Spike jumped up to stop her, taking her by the forearm. Spinning her around effortlessly, he said, "There has to be something I can do to help you. Name it, Buffy. I'll do anything you ask."

Pent-up tears spilled from the Slayer's eyes. "No, Spike, I don't think you can. I can't even look at you without seeing him. Seeing my William."

Spike's hand jerked away from Buffy's arm as if he had been burned. She turned and walked out of the alley unimpeded. She paused, not looking back. "They can never know. Never." She looked over her shoulder at the obviously shocked vampire. He nodded numbly.

She walked away, into the light.