Title: Life After
Author: Danielle
E-mail: PrincessCashew@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up and through The Gift, I know it already premiered all over.
Summary: Since Buffy's death, Spike has been taking care of Dawn. Willow had some news that sent the gang to LA, and while they're there Willow does a spell to get some new information. What will this information mean?
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, and whoever has rights to these people in court. Do not sue me, I'm poor anyway.
Feedback: I would love it if you could send it on to PrincessCashew@hotmail.com
Distribution: Whoever wants it can have it, just e-mail me first so I can come and visit.
She was smiling at me. A blue sweater on and a pair of white pants, her hair pulled up in some intricate twist, she stood by a table her gaze fixated upon my arrival. She was there, and she was smiling at me. She was laughing and dancing around, her small hips shaking to the music. She looked so happy and that strange ache that had lived inside of me was suddenly gone. Everything was right again. She spun around while she danced, and stopped facing the other way. I wondered if she was still smiling.
I didn't think she had ever smiled at me. The more I thought about it, I knew that she never had. She faced me again, but it wasn't her. The eyes of the girl who was smiling at me were cold and dull. It was then that I remembered she was dead.
I awoke that afternoon again, alone, with tear tracks on my face. I liked it better when I forgot, when I couldn't remember that she had thrown herself off a tower to save the rest of the world. A world that would never mourn her, never miss having her in it, probably never even know what she had done for it. But I was there for all that. All the mourning, missing and knowing that went with the new world she had created when she left.
I needed a smoke. And a drink too, a hard one to burn my throat on the way down. But I couldn't have either. I was a bad enough influence without my vices.
A door slammed upstairs, and that was the first time I noticed that it was already dark. I'd slept the day away. I wanted to laugh when I thought it, realizing that was when I was supposed to sleep, but when I tried, it felt more like I was going to throw up. It wasn't the time for laughing, not yet.
I heard someone trying to creep down the stairs very quietly, but the planks were old and creaked when any pressure was applied. "Little Bit, I'm up. You don't have to try to be quiet."
She bounded the rest of the way, and flipped the light switch at the bottom. "I was wondering what was taking you so long." She came and sat next to me on the sofa while her right hand reached out to touch the wet lines on my face. "Are you alright?"
I pulled away from her very quickly, "Bad dream." I muttered moving towards the stairs. I was the grown-up, hell I was 126 years old, I wasn't supposed to let her know that I was just as bloody scared as she was. "Come on, I'll make dinner." I began to make my way upstairs.
"Spike?"
"Yes luv?" I turned to face her again and her eyes looked glazed over. She was trying so hard not to cry again.
"I wake up like that a lot of nights too." She didn't think I knew, didn't think I could hear her, while I sat on the back porch rocking back and forth on the steps, my fingers itching to hold a fag. I was always too scared to go up and make sure she was all right; afraid she wouldn't want my help. I couldn't lose her, not after what I had promised to her sister. "How does pasta sound?" she asked, wiping her eyes.
"Fine Niblet. Absolutely fine."
Author: Danielle
E-mail: PrincessCashew@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up and through The Gift, I know it already premiered all over.
Summary: Since Buffy's death, Spike has been taking care of Dawn. Willow had some news that sent the gang to LA, and while they're there Willow does a spell to get some new information. What will this information mean?
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, and whoever has rights to these people in court. Do not sue me, I'm poor anyway.
Feedback: I would love it if you could send it on to PrincessCashew@hotmail.com
Distribution: Whoever wants it can have it, just e-mail me first so I can come and visit.
She was smiling at me. A blue sweater on and a pair of white pants, her hair pulled up in some intricate twist, she stood by a table her gaze fixated upon my arrival. She was there, and she was smiling at me. She was laughing and dancing around, her small hips shaking to the music. She looked so happy and that strange ache that had lived inside of me was suddenly gone. Everything was right again. She spun around while she danced, and stopped facing the other way. I wondered if she was still smiling.
I didn't think she had ever smiled at me. The more I thought about it, I knew that she never had. She faced me again, but it wasn't her. The eyes of the girl who was smiling at me were cold and dull. It was then that I remembered she was dead.
I awoke that afternoon again, alone, with tear tracks on my face. I liked it better when I forgot, when I couldn't remember that she had thrown herself off a tower to save the rest of the world. A world that would never mourn her, never miss having her in it, probably never even know what she had done for it. But I was there for all that. All the mourning, missing and knowing that went with the new world she had created when she left.
I needed a smoke. And a drink too, a hard one to burn my throat on the way down. But I couldn't have either. I was a bad enough influence without my vices.
A door slammed upstairs, and that was the first time I noticed that it was already dark. I'd slept the day away. I wanted to laugh when I thought it, realizing that was when I was supposed to sleep, but when I tried, it felt more like I was going to throw up. It wasn't the time for laughing, not yet.
I heard someone trying to creep down the stairs very quietly, but the planks were old and creaked when any pressure was applied. "Little Bit, I'm up. You don't have to try to be quiet."
She bounded the rest of the way, and flipped the light switch at the bottom. "I was wondering what was taking you so long." She came and sat next to me on the sofa while her right hand reached out to touch the wet lines on my face. "Are you alright?"
I pulled away from her very quickly, "Bad dream." I muttered moving towards the stairs. I was the grown-up, hell I was 126 years old, I wasn't supposed to let her know that I was just as bloody scared as she was. "Come on, I'll make dinner." I began to make my way upstairs.
"Spike?"
"Yes luv?" I turned to face her again and her eyes looked glazed over. She was trying so hard not to cry again.
"I wake up like that a lot of nights too." She didn't think I knew, didn't think I could hear her, while I sat on the back porch rocking back and forth on the steps, my fingers itching to hold a fag. I was always too scared to go up and make sure she was all right; afraid she wouldn't want my help. I couldn't lose her, not after what I had promised to her sister. "How does pasta sound?" she asked, wiping her eyes.
"Fine Niblet. Absolutely fine."