This part was pretty hard to write, and it's still not the best. I found I
can't write Spike POV very well. It's significantly better than my first
draft, though, and I have saff and Erin to thank for that. So thanks,
guys!
In tragic romantic epics, you'll often read of lovers who knew when something had happened to their beloved. The first time she died, I didn't know her. The second time, I witnessed it. It tore my heart out, right, but I was there. I saw it. The third time Buffy died, I didn't have a bleeding clue.
I was sleeping. Dreaming like sodding baby. Buffy and I were sitting in the sunlight. She was looking at me with the adoring look I'd never quite gotten used to. I leaned over to kiss her and she spoke, in Xander's voice.
"Spike."
"What is it, pet?"
"Spike, you have to wake up."
Hands on my shoulders shock me roughly and I opened one eye. It was Harris.
"Go 'way." I mumbled and rolled over. I was sleepy, and not in the mood for a bloody man to man chat.
"Spike, it's Buffy. She's…" he had to stop; his voice cracked.
I sat up. Looked at Harris. He was a mess. His hair was mussed more than usual, and his shit was buttoned incorrectly. He'd been crying. After twenty years I still wouldn't call the man my friend. I'd stopped wanting to punch him every time I laid eyes on him, though, and that pleased Buffy.
"What's happened," I asked, not knowing, even then, that she was dead. Bloody clueless, I was. "Demon?"
"Car accident," he said. "Buffy, Kristin and Henry… they're all dead."
No. Not Buffy. I got up. Paced around the room. Looked for something I could hit. There wasn't anything. I looked at Xander and considered hitting him. I settled for the wall.
Bang! I punched it once. Twice. Plaster from the ceiling started to fall down onto my hair. Bang! Hurled my whole body towards the wall this time. The floor vibrated below my feet. Buffy's vanity stood near me, an easy target. I picked it up, threw it. Perfumes and lotions rained across the room. I fell to the floor. Looked at my hands. I'd bloodied the knuckles. Stopped. Took deep, unnecessary breaths. I hadn't cried yet.
"Will you shut the hell up? You're throwing a temper tantrum."
"I suppose I should drink a bottle of vodka instead?" I sneered.
He clenched and unclenched his fists. His face was white. I felt sorry for him then, for god knows what reason. I let up. Calmed down.
"Dawn?"
"In the hospital. Giles is with her. They called him first. He called me, told me to get you. Dawn's in good condition. She's unconscious, and she's got a broken arm, but other than that, she's fine."
"I wouldn't exactly call it fine, Harris. She's lost her children and her sister. She's probably as far from fine as she can be."
Xander looked sheepish. He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't want to hear whatever he had to say. I cut him off.
"Right then. Let's go to the hospital."
I drove. Harris wasn't in any condition to be behind the wheel. We'd had enough fatalities for one night.
Giles met us as soon as we walked into the hospital. He looked ill. He must have had to identify the bodies. Better him than me. He looked up at me and our eyes met. There wasn't anything to say to comfort each other. I kept silent, and followed him.
Dawn was small and pale on her bed. There was an IV drip hooked up to her right arm. The left was covered in a white cast. She looked very young, still my little bit. The last Summers.
It had been two days, and I hadn't slept. I'd cried and howled. Broken more furniture. I'd gotten myself thrown out of the hospital twice. I didn't listen and came back when the nurses weren't looking. I went out patrolling both nights and killed any vampire I could find. I even got drunk with Harris. He was a git, but we were both drowning in the same horror. Might as well do it together.
I used to think of Buffy as invincible. She'd made it though so much. We helped each other, the two of us. I watched her back, and she watched mine. She'd saved the whole world, dammit. She shouldn't have been beaten by a hunk of metal.
Dawn wanted me at the funerals. "You're one of the only ones left," she said, "and you have to be there for Buffy."
So we buried them all at dusk. Two small coffins and one large got lowered into the ground as we watched. I could have thrown myself after her. Would have, if it weren't for Dawn. I'd stick around a bit longer, for her. Till the end of the world, even if it wasn't tonight.
In tragic romantic epics, you'll often read of lovers who knew when something had happened to their beloved. The first time she died, I didn't know her. The second time, I witnessed it. It tore my heart out, right, but I was there. I saw it. The third time Buffy died, I didn't have a bleeding clue.
I was sleeping. Dreaming like sodding baby. Buffy and I were sitting in the sunlight. She was looking at me with the adoring look I'd never quite gotten used to. I leaned over to kiss her and she spoke, in Xander's voice.
"Spike."
"What is it, pet?"
"Spike, you have to wake up."
Hands on my shoulders shock me roughly and I opened one eye. It was Harris.
"Go 'way." I mumbled and rolled over. I was sleepy, and not in the mood for a bloody man to man chat.
"Spike, it's Buffy. She's…" he had to stop; his voice cracked.
I sat up. Looked at Harris. He was a mess. His hair was mussed more than usual, and his shit was buttoned incorrectly. He'd been crying. After twenty years I still wouldn't call the man my friend. I'd stopped wanting to punch him every time I laid eyes on him, though, and that pleased Buffy.
"What's happened," I asked, not knowing, even then, that she was dead. Bloody clueless, I was. "Demon?"
"Car accident," he said. "Buffy, Kristin and Henry… they're all dead."
No. Not Buffy. I got up. Paced around the room. Looked for something I could hit. There wasn't anything. I looked at Xander and considered hitting him. I settled for the wall.
Bang! I punched it once. Twice. Plaster from the ceiling started to fall down onto my hair. Bang! Hurled my whole body towards the wall this time. The floor vibrated below my feet. Buffy's vanity stood near me, an easy target. I picked it up, threw it. Perfumes and lotions rained across the room. I fell to the floor. Looked at my hands. I'd bloodied the knuckles. Stopped. Took deep, unnecessary breaths. I hadn't cried yet.
"Will you shut the hell up? You're throwing a temper tantrum."
"I suppose I should drink a bottle of vodka instead?" I sneered.
He clenched and unclenched his fists. His face was white. I felt sorry for him then, for god knows what reason. I let up. Calmed down.
"Dawn?"
"In the hospital. Giles is with her. They called him first. He called me, told me to get you. Dawn's in good condition. She's unconscious, and she's got a broken arm, but other than that, she's fine."
"I wouldn't exactly call it fine, Harris. She's lost her children and her sister. She's probably as far from fine as she can be."
Xander looked sheepish. He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't want to hear whatever he had to say. I cut him off.
"Right then. Let's go to the hospital."
I drove. Harris wasn't in any condition to be behind the wheel. We'd had enough fatalities for one night.
Giles met us as soon as we walked into the hospital. He looked ill. He must have had to identify the bodies. Better him than me. He looked up at me and our eyes met. There wasn't anything to say to comfort each other. I kept silent, and followed him.
Dawn was small and pale on her bed. There was an IV drip hooked up to her right arm. The left was covered in a white cast. She looked very young, still my little bit. The last Summers.
It had been two days, and I hadn't slept. I'd cried and howled. Broken more furniture. I'd gotten myself thrown out of the hospital twice. I didn't listen and came back when the nurses weren't looking. I went out patrolling both nights and killed any vampire I could find. I even got drunk with Harris. He was a git, but we were both drowning in the same horror. Might as well do it together.
I used to think of Buffy as invincible. She'd made it though so much. We helped each other, the two of us. I watched her back, and she watched mine. She'd saved the whole world, dammit. She shouldn't have been beaten by a hunk of metal.
Dawn wanted me at the funerals. "You're one of the only ones left," she said, "and you have to be there for Buffy."
So we buried them all at dusk. Two small coffins and one large got lowered into the ground as we watched. I could have thrown myself after her. Would have, if it weren't for Dawn. I'd stick around a bit longer, for her. Till the end of the world, even if it wasn't tonight.