He wakes up and the room is cold and dark. For one moment, he remembers and he is content. But then she isn't there.
His good mood shrinks into a treasured memory, his favorite memory. The memory he will pull out on lonely nights and hold close.
He feels around on what has become her side of the bed in a single night. Cold. She's been gone for an hour, maybe two. His fingers touch upon a note. He sits up and unfolds it, caressing her words before he reads it.
Spike,
I have to find Caleb. I have to find a way to fight this. You understand, I know.
Thank you for tonight.
Buffy.
He sighs. There's no point in trying to find her now – the sun will be up in an hour, not enough time to safely get to the vineyard.
He lays back down on the stranger's bed and inhales. Her scent is still on the pillows and on his shirt and all around him. He can still feel the imprint of a kiss, her kiss, on his cheek.
He's never loved her more than he did last night.
He can't remember exactly what he told her, to make her leave, to make her say thank you before leaving him. But he does remember one thing, and he knows he was right. It was the truest thing he's ever said about the woman he loves.
You're a hell of a woman.
And she's going to fight this. And he's going to watch her, and be proud of her, and remember last night.
The best night of his life.
