So Disenchanted

Disclaimer: Sigh, none of this belongs to me. Like I needed another reminder of how sad it is not be Joss Whedon... what? ...

Buffy pulled her hand back. She panted frantically as she tried to let her eyes focus in the dark.

She had to know.

She squinted, and then closed her eyes hard. She stretched her arm and let her hand flutter in the air, her fingertips caressing the space around her, until they came across a resting place. She grazed the pads of her fingers against his cold and silky skin, letting her accompanying digits trace the contours of his jaw. Her thumb traced the soft tissue beneath his eyes, and traveled down to stroke the smooth gradient of his distinguished lips.

She felt his breath dance slightly against her palm, soothing the faintest of sweat that had formed. She opened her eyes and instantly met his salient gaze.

"Oh my god." The fragile whisper escaped her lips without resonance. She couldn't swallow, she couldn't breath. She couldn't feel her limbs and her heartbeat was all she could hear. It overpowered her senses and her mind became blank.

She hadn't even noticed the deafening silence that swarmed the hall. It was thumping, pounding. Her heart was all she heard.

"Buffy…" His thick, sinuous voice broke the silence, a painful awakening to her incapacitated senses.

"Oh my god." She repeated, this time with more strength, more comprehension. Her eyes stung from the overwhelming puddle of tears that she refused to let fall. Even though she couldn't make him out, she felt his gaze. She felt him looking her up and down, examining her demeanor, her figure, her presence.

"Are you alrig—"

"Spike." She stated. Her eyes met with his again, that shimmer of blue she could make out in the dark.

"You're here?" She question, exasperated. "How… I mean… wh…" Buffy trailed off as she snapped herself out of a desperate trance and looked around.

"It's dark." She stated, still confused, still dazed, but growing more lucid.

"Right," Spike whispered cautiously, "I need to—"

Buffy heard him stop speaking as she turned her back toward him and slowly, breathlessly made her way through her apartment. Her mind raced and she couldn't make out one thought. Her mind raced and she wanted it to stop. She wanted this to end.

God, where is the kitchen? How long does it take to get to the kitchen?

She stumbled past end tables and bulky furniture.

Why is it so dark? Why is the fucking kitchen so far away? Who built this goddamned place? Why is the power out? It's not even—when did it start raining? Where the hell is the kitchen?

She grew frustrated and her breathing became jagged. She felt the room spinning around her and she needed it to stop. She needed to rest. She needed water.

She had water.

She looked down at her left hand and laughed nervously at the sight of a half empty glass. She brought it to her lips as she slowly continued walking. She felt the water pass through her lips, over her tongue, and down her dry, cotton lined throat.

It wasn't helping. Her mind wouldn't shut up and the room wouldn't stop spinning. She made her way toward the couch and recklessly collapsed into it's cushions, shattering the glass of water as it slipped from her grasp. Her body tingled and her senses were suddenly muffled. She closed her eyes and let her head fall limp to her chest.

"Buffy? … Buffy!"

The accented words echoed in the background, and she smiled slightly as the room faded and she let herself slip away.

Okay, so should I continue? Please let me know what you think!