"Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose."
~The Wonder Years


She sat on her bed, notepad and pen in hand, writing a letter to Dawn. She was doing okay, and Giles was keeping her as busy as she wanted to be. No, she hadn't gone sight seeing much. Rain. England, go figure. But that was no biggie.

Buffy laid her letter down and thought for a long moment. Honestly, she hadn't had the energy to leave Giles' house. While she had recovered weeks ago, she was still feeling the aftershocks of Sunnydale's demise. She hadn't lived there all her life, but she'd made memories there. She'd found friends, found love, and lost so very much. Her house, Sunnydale High, the Doublemeat Palace, Restfield Cemetary, her mother's grave, it was a town built on the mouth of hell, but it was…home.

A soft knock at the half opened door grabbed her attention, and she looked up to find Giles standing there, the look of a concerned father on his face. She smiled weakly, but didn't offer him anything more than an invitation into her room. He'd said he would listen whenever she needed to talk, but Buffy hadn't been ready. She still wasn't.

"I have the information you asked for a while ago."

It had been a small, private request of hers, nothing urgent. She wasn't prepared enough for it to have been urgent. She would never be able visit her mother again or Tara, and they didn't have the chance to give Anya and the lost Potentials a proper burial, but there was one place where she'd be able to pay her respects to one of their fallen.

"I contacted a former colleague of mine," he said, sitting at the edge of her bed. "She had done her thesis on him some years ago. Perhaps you remember her. I thought, if anyone, she would have the answer."

He handed a scrap of paper to her and she took it, at first unwilling to look at what was written. Finally, she read,

Hither Green Cemetery

Verdant Lane, London.

As the slayer, she never feared going into a cemetery. But as Buffy Summers, the thought of going to that cemetery, to his grave, frightened her. She was having trouble letting go of everyone, and he was no exception. Towards the end, they had become so close. She was beginning to feel things for him that both scared and excited her. In him she found a man who was devoted to her, even after her death, a man that loved her beyond reason at times, a good man. They were supposed to be heroes, to come out of the Hellmouth together, to figure out whatever the hell was going on between them and just be happy.

The hope of her ever having a semi-normal life post being the Chosen One, maybe with Spike, was gone before she'd barely thought it. And now she had to let go.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Of course." He hesitated a moment before offering her what looked to be a leather bound book.

"Giles, what's this?"

"A gift from Katherine Bennett to you," he explained as she opened it.

Her eyes began to sting the moment she turned to the first page. She was familiar with the handwriting, an elegant cursive script, almost calligraphy. The first time she'd laid eyes on it, she'd wondered how a man who had murdered thousands could have such…beautiful writing, and it was one of the initial things that sparked her interest in the man before Spike.

"William," she whispered, as if to herself.

"It was hard to come by, I'm told, but Katherine found it some time ago. She felt that it would be worth far more to you than it could ever be to her."

"I…don't know what to say."

"I've already expressed your gratitude to her." He looked at her thoughtfully. "I hope it helps ease some of the hurt. You know how I felt about him, Buffy, but despite that, even I could see he loved you deeply, though it defied his nature. I'm sorry for your loss."

She nodded, unable to form words at that moment. She thought that if she tried to thank him, she'd start to cry, and that wasn't something she wanted to do in front of him. She wanted to express her grief privately.

"I'll leave you with him then."

Buffy hardly noticed Giles leave the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. She ran her fingers across the smooth, worn leather where Spike's hands, warm, once rested. She brought the pages to her nose to see if they carried the scent of the man that was. Instead she found what was only the smell of old book, probably boxed in an attic for years, but for the briefest of moments she thought she could smell the mixture of leather and cigarettes.

Opening it once more, she read the first page again:

The Journal

of

William Henry Pratt

She wasn't sure what would come of reading his journal. Good or bad though, she read on. Today, she would appreciate the man that Spike was, get to know him on a more personal basis than simply glimpses that the souled Spike showed her. Then tomorrow, she would visit him at William's grave. She knew there was no body, but there once was, and that had to be enough for her. And after reading his journal, she had no doubt that she would be grieving for both the man and the vampire that she thought she had begun to love.

A/N: Thank you for reading this fic. It's my first attempt at Buffy fanfiction, so I hope I've done it justice. I wanted to mention that Spike's name, William Pratt, isn't my own creation but showed up in the comics Old Times and Spike: Asylum #2. The man who created the surname Pratt for Spike said that he intended it to be a tribute to Boris Karloff, whose real name was William Henry Pratt. So basically, I just went ahead and used the full name. It's as close to canon as I could get.