He stumbled toward the group, doubled over in pain. The fall from the tower had nearly killed him. They all looked stunned, shocked. He followed their gaze and he saw her. Buffy, lying there, a mere twenty feet from him. He collapsed, the sudden realization of her death hitting him like a freight train. She was gone. His Slayer, Buffy, the woman he held so much love and adoration for - dead. The tears came fast and hot, burning his face. A great hole opened in his chest, filling him with a despair so great that he didn't care that the sun was slowly rising. He buried his face in his hands, letting the tears flow out unabashedly. Giles was the first to move.
"We have to go..." His voice was tight, no doubt constricted by grief. Xander joined him, lifting her limp body from the ground. Dawn continued to sob, her eyes wide and reddened. Willow went to her, lifting her up and helping her along as they followed Giles and Xander. He made no effort to move. He let the overwhelming sense of loss wash over him, drown him in the blackness. Without her in the world, he had no reason to remain any longer.
"Spike... We need to go now." It was Tara, her voice soft and full of sadness. He simply shook his head at her. She reached out and pulled on his arm a bit. "Buffy would want you to keep going, Spike. Now, please..."
He looked up at her, his blue eyes red and full of tears. She was right, of course. Dawn. Buffy wanted him to protect Dawn, until the very end. She had trusted him to. He swallowed hard, and nodded to Tara. She pulled him to his feet, supporting his weight on her shoulder. The two stumbled along, racing against the sunrise.
I will take care of her, and the others too. I will be worthy of you, love. He made the promise to her, and to himself. She had treated him like a man, and he would not have her regretting that in the afterlife.
They had all gone to her home. Her body lie on the couch, pale and cold to the touch. Spike almost couldn't stand it, and e couldn't understand how any of them could either. Her scent was everywhere, a constant reminder of what had been lost. It clung to everything in the house; the curtains, the rugs, the very air held her. The black hole in his chest only grew, the longer he was there. Willow had called the coroner and the police, saying they had just found her this way. It was so much like Joyce's death, it made Spike nearly sick to his stomach. Dawn had retreated to her room, sobbing uncontrollably.
He followed her, wanting to make good on his promise. He found her lying face down on her bed, her sobs dry and rattling her fragile form. He could think of nothing else to do, except go to her and be a rock that she could anchor herself to. He sat down next to her, placed his hand lightly on her shoulder and just held it there. She curled up to him, laid her head in his lap and clung to him for dear life.
"Shh, Niblet. I know..." He didn't bother telling her it would be okay. He wasn't sure it ever would be again.
The coroner had come, taken statements and Buffy's body with him. Spike had remained hidden but fully aware of the event. He was beyond the point of grief, consumed by a deep despair he had never known before. I can't do this without you, love. I need you with me. Please... He had prayed to her, willing her to give him the strength to keep going. Giles had gone, Xander and Anya had followed shortly behind him. Willow and Tara remained with Dawn for a long time. Spike spoke not a word to any of them. He could think of nothing to say that could ever possibly help. Sorry for the loss, he had thought. It was generic. Of course he was sorry for the loss, but not theirs. It was his own loss he was sorry for.
Night had fallen, and he gave Dawn a long, tight hug. "I will be back, Dawn. I will do what I can for you." His words were sincere. He left her there, in Willow and Tara's care for the evening. He walked numbly back to his crypt, the world passing him by as he went. It no longer mattered, the living world.
He found the bottle of scotch in the refrigerator and began drinking it, not bothering to use a glass. He let the despair claim him once again, allowed it to wash over him. Her face filled his mind, her smile so rarely seen but preserved perfectly to him, her laugh, the very essence of her being.
Oh, God, he thought. Why Love? Why have you left me here with this task? I should have died in your place. The guilt was astounding as it overtook him. He allowed it, welcomed it even. He drank the scotch deeply, polishing the bottle off in a matter of a couple of hours. It did nothing to dull the pain he felt.
Sleep finally claimed him. It brought no comfort, no silence for the guilt and sadness he felt. It brought visions of her. He was faster, a better fighter, hadn't let the Doc get past him, to Dawn. Buffy hadn't died. He had saved her and Dawn both. He woke suddenly, hoping and praying it was real. He was greeted by his crypt, barely lit with the oncoming sunrise. Dawn.
He had promised her he would be back. He was breaking the promises already. He was failing Buffy, and she had only been dead for a day.
She's dead. The thought rang through his brain, loud and clear. He had already failed her in that.
The guilt was unimaginable. He should have been able to save her, should have been able to save Dawn. He should have been able to save them all. The urge to just walk out into the morning, to let himself be consumed by the light of day, was incredible.
One day, he thought. He had got through the first day. Surely he could get through one more, for Dawn's sake.
The first three days passed slowly, in much the same way. He drank himself into oblivion, not bothering to feed or heal his wounds. The dreams, much more like nightmares, continued. Each and every time he closed his eyes, she was there. Bright and beautiful, much as she had been in life. Every night split his chest in two again, seeing her there in his mind, alive and well. Every morning brought the desperation for death, the sunshine taunting, pulling, to him. He made it through each day, ticking it off in his head, because she had asked him to. He did it for her, always for her.
Then came the funeral. Dawn had come to him, dressed all in black, her eyes still incredibly red and puffy.
"We're burying her... tonight at sunset. Spike, please come. For me?" Her voice was high, so much effort put into not bursting into tears again. He had simply nodded to her, held her hand for a moment.
"It will get better, Dawn. It will just take time. Lots and lots of time." He held her in a close hug, and her sobs came again. He held his tears in, amazed at his own strength.
Buffy wanted you to care for her. You need to be stronger. She needs you. That great hole in his chest still consumed him, but he could squash the urges to break down, for now. The shock had finally worn off, replaced by a massive amount of sorrow and grief.
The entire group was there. Giles appeared to have been drinking the last few days as well. Xander and Anya still seemed in disbelief. Tara and Willow clung to each other, holding onto each other like the world would shatter if they let go. Angel was there as well, that familiar look of brooding on his face. He shed not a tear for her, merely staring at the headstone as the pastor read her final rights of passage and invited them all to speak a few final words for her. Dawn held Spike's arm, her tears renewed and flowing fast. Giles spoke first.
"I had never met a woman with so much courage," he began. The words were lost to Spike. He simply stared at the fresh dirt, knowing her body lie beneath. The others all said something small, no doubt significant of their feelings for her. Angel spoke last, but Spike's mind drowned him out entirely. They each left, one by one, as the night turned darker. He alone remained.
"Buffy... I will do everything I can, to do what you wanted. I will try to care for Dawn. I don't want to let you down.. You should be here with them, not me. It should have been me to die." He spoke to her headstone, crouched in front of it, on his knees.
"You gave me more than I ever deserved. I want to deserve it. I want you to know that your trust in me was worth it. It's so hard, Buffy..." The pain in his chest may as well have been a stake for all the pain it caused, but it offered no release of death.
"I don't know how to go on without you, Love. Please, tell me how I am supposed to do this." He buckled over, his tears flowing freely. He took in a deep ragged breath, steeling himself against the consuming ache.
"I love you, Buffy. I want you to know that, always. I will do what you asked, care for those you love. I will let no harm come to them."
He rose from her grave slowly, made his way back to his crypt. The booze had long since run out, and all that was left was blood. He sighed, knowing full well he was starving himself.
Some way to live up to her expectations, he thought. He opened a bag, drank it down in a few gulps. If he was to care for Dawn and the rest, he would have to care for himself first. He lit a cigarette, smoking slowly and doing his best not to think. He never figured a vampire to fear sleep, nor to shed tears.
She came to him, every night. She spoke words of encouragement, of love for him, her desire to see him become the man she knew he could be. Every night he was back at the tower, the same situation over and over. He saved her life each time, a different way. He killed the Doc before they were even on the tower, freed Dawn from Glory's clutches. Every night, it was the same yet different.
The hole in his chest made no progress toward closing. The depression, the guilt, the grief, threatened each day to consume him entirely. To make him take that early morning walk into the sunlight. Each night, she managed to give him the strength he needed to make it through another day without her. The others, even Dawn, seemed to be dealing better. They were forgetting her. Spike simply could not.
It will haunt me until the day I die. The thought crossed his mind so many times. He managed one evening to return to her grave. He had not visited her in months, the pain of even approaching it to great for him. He had something he needed to tell her. He approached her slowly, the site of her headstone placing a solid rock in his gut.
"Hey there, Pet. I came to tell you goodbye. It's been a long time coming, I know. I am not giving up what you trusted me with, but I need to be able to move on. I don't think it will ever be possible, but I never got to tell you..." He choked up a bit, standing there where she slept her eternal rest.
"I love you, Buffy. More than I have ever loved anything else in this world. I see you every night, hear you in my thoughts every day. I feel you are here. You give me the strength I need. I want you to rest, even if it means abandoning me here. You of all people deserve it."
He dropped a single flower on her grave, kissed his fingers and pressed them to the stone.