A/N: Woot! Next chapter! Please review! Btw, the title of this fic comes from the song of the same name by the band Finch. :)
What it is to Burn
Chapter 2
The darkness had never been foreign to Buffy, but now it was more than just familiar. It was comforting. More comforting, in fact, than her home, of whose shadows she was currently lurking in. The knowledge that she was unknowingly taking on the persona of Spike did nothing but strengthen the angst she felt, but as the light in her sister's room turned on and revealed the shadow of Dawn against the curtains, the Slayer felt nothing but an immense, aching emptiness.
They were all there in her home. Waiting for her, probably; she instinctively knew that the sickly-sweet scent wafting from the open windows of her dwelling place was fear, and worry. All of her friends and loved ones were there, and she was too afraid to let them see how she was. But then again, she had been feeling like that since she had come back; now that she was dead again (and probably more permanently than last time), she could finally stop hiding her apathy and disgust she felt about this world and living in it. Not that she had to worry about living in it anymore…
She could never be the sister that Dawn deserved. There was no way possible for her to keep her if she couldn't care for her, and she most certainly couldn't do that if she was just as dark and evil as Spike had said she was.
And he was right.
She had to admit it to herself: now that she was dead again, the world felt good. But she couldn't ignore that there was still something inside of her that rejected the pleasure that she was feeling. That same something was weeping at the loss of her family and friends, who she had died for; they brought her back from the grave, but she had crawled right back in, and Buffy knew that there was no possibility that they would accept her as she was.
Only one person could. She was certain of it.
It was nearly sunrise; she had to go to him. There was no way that she would be able to survive in this world when there was a battle going on inside of her. Why he had turned her, she still didn't know, but she was certain that there was still, deep within him, the Spike that she knew... that she had started to care for…
Turning from her home and the warmth and comfort it had once offered, the Slayer disappeared back into the darkness she so desired.
He had no idea how long he had stood there, unseeingly staring at the still-open door to his crypt. His mind was locked in a moment hours earlier, a moment that seemed so unlikely that it could not have possibly happened. But the dried blood on his lips was testament to the reality, not to mention the infuriated Slayer that had been standing before him as a vampire.
He had done that to her. There was no other explanation. Why she hadn't killed him right then and there, he had no idea, but he knew what needed to be done. Spike couldn't live with himself after killing the woman he loved and cursing her to become a personification of death…
"Oh god," he groaned, sinking to his knees and covering his face with his hands, breathing deeply the oxygen he needed not, trying to make the remembrance of what he had done to Buffy disappear but unable to shake away the image of her dead, unseeing eyes locked on his.
How could this have happened? He remembered everything that had taken place, but the act itself felt as if it was done by another. But it was his hands that held her soft, petite body as his fangs plunged into the milky white skin of her neck. It was his blood that was intermingled with hers and stagnant in the delicate veins of her unliving body. It was on his lips that he could still taste the essence of her life.
For no man would her heart ever again skip a beat.
His own gaze flashed yellow and he abruptly rose to his feet. What he had done was real, unchangeable, and enormous. There was no action that would redeem himself. He had tried to change, to be a good man for Buffy so she maybe would see him as such one day. He had been there for Dawn through the long summer when he wished for nothing more than to let himself dust.
A strange chill went down his spine as an idea occurred to him. There was nothing more for him to do on this Earth. He had taken the most amazing woman in existence and turned her into a monster. Buffy Summers was no more.
He could feel the coming sunrise. When it arrived, he would be there to meet it. Maybe the light could somehow purge his sins from the darkness within.
The grass was damp as Buffy trudged through the cemetery, ignoring the path and cutting between the headstones as to reach Spike's crypt as soon as possible. As the sound of a birdsong pierced through the silence of the night, Buffy increased her pace, nearly running to the stone building of sanctuary.
It took her a moment to realize that the figure standing on the top of the crypt was Spike, his arms stretched out as if to welcome the coming light of day. The rapidly lightening sky contrasted with the dark leather of his duster, and finally the realization hit; before he even knew she was there, she had leapt on the building and was standing before him.
"You have to be strong, Spike!" she yelled, uncaring of how loud her voice was. Her fear of being alone in the new, unfamiliar world had seized her being, as well as her unacknowledged fear of losing him. As she roughly grabbed his arms, she tearfully exclaimed, "We can figure out what happened, but we have to do this together!"
He looked into her face, a curios expression on his own; it was fearful and apprehensive, like a kicked puppy that knew he had done something wrong. "I killed you, Slayer," he said simply. She drew in a sharp breath of air at what he had said, as well as how he had addressed her. "If you'd rather do this yourself," he indicated to the stake visibly emerging from her coat pocket, "I'd be glad to comply, but I can't live with myself after—"
"If you die, I don't think that I would be able to live at all, Spike!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion as the first tears leaked out of her eyes. "Well find this out together, I know we will, but right now I need you!"
As she fiercely spoke her last words, a strand of gold highlighted the sky. Staring into her eyes for one last moment, Spike mutely jumped down, Buffy following him as he strode into the crypt and shut the door against the light of day.
Neither looked at the other until Buffy spoke. "We both have no idea why this happened, Spike. Why you drank from me." A pause. "Why I drank from you." He looked up at the words and met her eyes as she finished. "It's not important."
"Buffy—"
"No." She took a few slow steps, meeting his gaze as she approached him. "I just need you here right now, Spike." Without another word, she fell into the cool, safe hold of his arms, wanting to disappear into his embrace and never have to face the reality of her existence.
