Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns 'em. I don't...sadly...
Summary: Spike's will to go on after Buffy's death, and the origin of his 'every night I save you' speech.
AN: Ever wonder where Spike comes up with his brilliant speeches? I do. Wonder if he thinks them up before hand, then uses them when the time is right? (no, dumbarse, it's part of the script! Lmfao.) Well, I've taken one of his speeches, and used it here. In a different context. So, just assume, later on, that he uses this same speech when speaking to Buffy, because he remembered that he'd said it before, and it seemed perfect for the time and place he was in now.
William's Despair.
Platinum hair, a rush of black, and a drip of red. William The Bloody ran his cold fingers over the even colder gravestone. He set the bouquet of roses on her grave, and read the words upon the stone for the hundredth time: 'She saved the world. A lot.' Tears ran in thin streams down his cheeks, wavering in his deep cerulean eyes. "She did more than save the world...she lighted mine," he said to no one in particular, "she actually made the breath catch in my throat...when there is no breath to catch."
He knelt on her grave, his arm on the tombstone, and sobbed into the leather of his coat. "God...I miss you, Buffy. No matter how many times you've told me you didn't love me, I still miss you...still love you..." How he wished she would answer, wished for her sweet voice to run through his head again. "I want you to know that I remember what I said. The promise. To protect her. If I'd done that ... even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't've had to jump. I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course. But after that. Every night after that. I see it all again, do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways ...Every night I save you...and every night it doesn't count. You're not here when I wake up...and night has embodied my world."
Night has, in fact, embodied his world. And not the type of night he likes...this is the total loneliness feeling kind of night. The night he fell into when Dru left. The night that happened when Angelus got his soul. It's all blackness and despair. He hasn't eaten in three days...his cheeks are beginning to cling to the bone, giving him the ghastly look of a cadaver. His skin is paler than it's ever been, and there are dark, dark circles under his eyes. His lips are purplish blue, and his body temperature has taken on the degree of cold in the autumn air. "I love you," he said softly, and lay down on her grave, looking up at the stars, wondering if maybe she too, was doing the same thing wherever she was. For he was sure she was in Heaven...having saved the world so many times. "She saved the world. A lot," he whispered, tears still running from his eyes.
Early in the morning, his nose lead him to the butcher's. He got enough blood to quench his hunger, make him look human again, and went to Buffy's house.
"If there was anything she'd want me to do," he said to himself, "it'd be to go on. For Dawn."
He unlocked the house with his key, sat in the kitchen and drank the pig's blood, feeling warmth and colour rising into his cheeks, filling his lips and every part of him. He was warm again. He went back into the living room, to his place on the couch, and lie down, staring at the ceiling. Tears wet the pillow beneath his head.
-Half an hour earlier...-
Dawn wept into Buffy's pillow. She couldn't take it. Not this. It wasn't fair. It was sad, and cold and lonely, and not fair. She was the last of the Summers women.
And no matter how loved Giles, Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara made her feel, she could only turn to Spike. Spike made her feel like she wasn't so alone. Spike loved Buffy perhaps on a different level than herself, but she and Spike had loved Buffy equally, and felt her loss equally. But he wasn't home, so she couldn't go to him.
She thought, maybe, he'd gone to get something to eat. He looked bloody terrible; he was like a walking corpse...a real walking corpse. His cheeks were all sunken, and his lips all purply. And there was only one blood bag left in the fridge. Maybe he'd gone to see the butcher. But then again, wouldn't he be back by now?
Perhaps he'd gone to visit her...to stare at that one line that meant so much, but told so little about how much Buffy had meant.
'She saved the world. A lot.'
Dawn couldn't bring herself to go to her...to stand in front of that headstone, and stare at that damn meaningless line. That wasn't the gist of it, though. It wasn't just that one line that explained everything and nothing. It was that Dawn couldn't register the fact that Buffy was dead. She refused to believe it. Buffy was just gone...not dead...she can't die. She's the Slayer. She's just gone...jingle, jangle, click, creak.
The door. Spike was home. Dawn heard him walk into the kitchen, get out a glass and something else out of the cupboard and start up the microwave, 'Whetabix,' she thought. That was the something else. He must have used the microwave six times, then he washed his cup, and she heard his feet shuffle from tile to carpet. He was in the living room, probably going to bed. She slipped out of Buffy's bed, and crept downstairs.
"Spike?" She whispered.
"Nibblet? What're you doin' up at this hour?" His voice sounded thick, as if he'd been crying. She walked into the living room, and sat on the arm of the couch, next to his head.
"Can't sleep...been thinking about her..."
"Me, too, Little Bit. Me, too." She got down on the floor next to the couch and wrapped her arms around him from there, crying into his shirt. He slipped down next to her, pulling her to his chest as she wept. "Shh, shh. 'M not goin' to tell you everything's gonna be ok, cos it won't. It'll hurt for a while, yeah, cos your mind'll dredge up memories of her. It'll hurt. Sting your heart... but you can't just go and forget her. You gotta keep those memories of her. Good and bad."
She pulled back and looked at him, and tried to stifle a yawn but couldn't. "I feel so alone..."
"I know. Now c'mon, up to bed with you, it's 3 A.M.," he stood up and grabbed her hand, helping her up.
"Lay with me?"
"Yeah," he smiled at her and they went upstairs.
Dawn cuddled into him on the bed, her head in the crook of his arm, "Thank you."
"No problem, Nibblet."
He closed his eyes.
"Spike?"
"Hmm?"
"Will you go with me to see her tomorrow night?"
"Sure. But why not go durin' the day, with Red or Glinda?"
Dawn tried to form her earlier thoughts into words. "You and me...we were the closest people to her...we loved her equally. With all our hearts. The others...they just don't get it...I dunno. It's just...when I'm with you, I feel like I'm with her, because we loved her so much. Me and you, we have to stick together. That way, we won't be so alone. I want to go with you...because it's just us now. Her sister and her kinda like a boyfriend guy. You're like a brother to me, Spike. We should visit her together."
Spike blinked back tears, and drew the Little Bit into a tighter embrace. "Yeah, we should."
He had to go on.
For Dawn.
Summary: Spike's will to go on after Buffy's death, and the origin of his 'every night I save you' speech.
AN: Ever wonder where Spike comes up with his brilliant speeches? I do. Wonder if he thinks them up before hand, then uses them when the time is right? (no, dumbarse, it's part of the script! Lmfao.) Well, I've taken one of his speeches, and used it here. In a different context. So, just assume, later on, that he uses this same speech when speaking to Buffy, because he remembered that he'd said it before, and it seemed perfect for the time and place he was in now.
William's Despair.
Platinum hair, a rush of black, and a drip of red. William The Bloody ran his cold fingers over the even colder gravestone. He set the bouquet of roses on her grave, and read the words upon the stone for the hundredth time: 'She saved the world. A lot.' Tears ran in thin streams down his cheeks, wavering in his deep cerulean eyes. "She did more than save the world...she lighted mine," he said to no one in particular, "she actually made the breath catch in my throat...when there is no breath to catch."
He knelt on her grave, his arm on the tombstone, and sobbed into the leather of his coat. "God...I miss you, Buffy. No matter how many times you've told me you didn't love me, I still miss you...still love you..." How he wished she would answer, wished for her sweet voice to run through his head again. "I want you to know that I remember what I said. The promise. To protect her. If I'd done that ... even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't've had to jump. I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course. But after that. Every night after that. I see it all again, do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways ...Every night I save you...and every night it doesn't count. You're not here when I wake up...and night has embodied my world."
Night has, in fact, embodied his world. And not the type of night he likes...this is the total loneliness feeling kind of night. The night he fell into when Dru left. The night that happened when Angelus got his soul. It's all blackness and despair. He hasn't eaten in three days...his cheeks are beginning to cling to the bone, giving him the ghastly look of a cadaver. His skin is paler than it's ever been, and there are dark, dark circles under his eyes. His lips are purplish blue, and his body temperature has taken on the degree of cold in the autumn air. "I love you," he said softly, and lay down on her grave, looking up at the stars, wondering if maybe she too, was doing the same thing wherever she was. For he was sure she was in Heaven...having saved the world so many times. "She saved the world. A lot," he whispered, tears still running from his eyes.
Early in the morning, his nose lead him to the butcher's. He got enough blood to quench his hunger, make him look human again, and went to Buffy's house.
"If there was anything she'd want me to do," he said to himself, "it'd be to go on. For Dawn."
He unlocked the house with his key, sat in the kitchen and drank the pig's blood, feeling warmth and colour rising into his cheeks, filling his lips and every part of him. He was warm again. He went back into the living room, to his place on the couch, and lie down, staring at the ceiling. Tears wet the pillow beneath his head.
-Half an hour earlier...-
Dawn wept into Buffy's pillow. She couldn't take it. Not this. It wasn't fair. It was sad, and cold and lonely, and not fair. She was the last of the Summers women.
And no matter how loved Giles, Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara made her feel, she could only turn to Spike. Spike made her feel like she wasn't so alone. Spike loved Buffy perhaps on a different level than herself, but she and Spike had loved Buffy equally, and felt her loss equally. But he wasn't home, so she couldn't go to him.
She thought, maybe, he'd gone to get something to eat. He looked bloody terrible; he was like a walking corpse...a real walking corpse. His cheeks were all sunken, and his lips all purply. And there was only one blood bag left in the fridge. Maybe he'd gone to see the butcher. But then again, wouldn't he be back by now?
Perhaps he'd gone to visit her...to stare at that one line that meant so much, but told so little about how much Buffy had meant.
'She saved the world. A lot.'
Dawn couldn't bring herself to go to her...to stand in front of that headstone, and stare at that damn meaningless line. That wasn't the gist of it, though. It wasn't just that one line that explained everything and nothing. It was that Dawn couldn't register the fact that Buffy was dead. She refused to believe it. Buffy was just gone...not dead...she can't die. She's the Slayer. She's just gone...jingle, jangle, click, creak.
The door. Spike was home. Dawn heard him walk into the kitchen, get out a glass and something else out of the cupboard and start up the microwave, 'Whetabix,' she thought. That was the something else. He must have used the microwave six times, then he washed his cup, and she heard his feet shuffle from tile to carpet. He was in the living room, probably going to bed. She slipped out of Buffy's bed, and crept downstairs.
"Spike?" She whispered.
"Nibblet? What're you doin' up at this hour?" His voice sounded thick, as if he'd been crying. She walked into the living room, and sat on the arm of the couch, next to his head.
"Can't sleep...been thinking about her..."
"Me, too, Little Bit. Me, too." She got down on the floor next to the couch and wrapped her arms around him from there, crying into his shirt. He slipped down next to her, pulling her to his chest as she wept. "Shh, shh. 'M not goin' to tell you everything's gonna be ok, cos it won't. It'll hurt for a while, yeah, cos your mind'll dredge up memories of her. It'll hurt. Sting your heart... but you can't just go and forget her. You gotta keep those memories of her. Good and bad."
She pulled back and looked at him, and tried to stifle a yawn but couldn't. "I feel so alone..."
"I know. Now c'mon, up to bed with you, it's 3 A.M.," he stood up and grabbed her hand, helping her up.
"Lay with me?"
"Yeah," he smiled at her and they went upstairs.
Dawn cuddled into him on the bed, her head in the crook of his arm, "Thank you."
"No problem, Nibblet."
He closed his eyes.
"Spike?"
"Hmm?"
"Will you go with me to see her tomorrow night?"
"Sure. But why not go durin' the day, with Red or Glinda?"
Dawn tried to form her earlier thoughts into words. "You and me...we were the closest people to her...we loved her equally. With all our hearts. The others...they just don't get it...I dunno. It's just...when I'm with you, I feel like I'm with her, because we loved her so much. Me and you, we have to stick together. That way, we won't be so alone. I want to go with you...because it's just us now. Her sister and her kinda like a boyfriend guy. You're like a brother to me, Spike. We should visit her together."
Spike blinked back tears, and drew the Little Bit into a tighter embrace. "Yeah, we should."
He had to go on.
For Dawn.