~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Spike knew he was brooding, and hated himself just that much more for it. But really, what else was there for a vamp to do, while waiting for the sun to go down, and the last night of his unlife to get underway?
Thinking about Buffy helped, anyway. He could get so lost in her…even just in the memories…
«Swirl of golden blonde and vanilla scent as she spun a kick at his face…»
«We're mortal enemies, we don't get time-outs…»
«Oh, Spike, of course it's yes…»
«You think we're dancing?…»
«You're the only one strong enough to protect them…»
«What you did for me, and for Dawn, that was real…»
«We're not all gonna make it…»
«I'm counting on you to protect her…»
«The hardest thing in this world is to live in it…»
«How long was I gone?…»
«I was warm, and I was loved, and I was finished…»
«Why are you always around when I'm miserable?…»
«You have had so too much to drink at this point, I am cuttin' you off…»
Spike's lips twisted into a wry grin, but the humor in the recollection didn't reach his eyes. He'd spent so long fighting it—fighting her—and now there wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't give to have all those dry, hateful years back…to drown them, set them afire…
I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back.
He frowned, wondering idly where that odd thought had come from, then sighed…and stared, blinking, at the patch of light on the crypt wall. It had faded from white into golden-red, and from there into a barely-there grey, and he'd been so caught up in the memories, he hadn't even noticed.
He jumped from his chair and grabbed for the black duster that lay draped across the sarcophagus in the corner, cursing at himself in frustration for the lost time. Every moment counted now, because tonight was all there was…
Flinging the heavy leather across his shoulders, Spike left the crypt in a half-dozen long strides. Somewhere in the darkness beyond, a beacon of light was calling to him with an irresistible siren song. Just one more glance, one more word…and then, the whole world could go to hell, for all he cared.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy's heart was still light, but her steps slowed a bit as she passed through the ominous wrought-iron cemetery gates. This wasn't a graveyard she tended to frequent on her patrols. It was rather small and out-of-the-way, on one of the outskirts of town farthest from the blackened corpse of Sunnydale High and the Hellmouth it entombed…so as cemeteries went, this one didn't see much in the way of vamp or demon action.
Which was exactly why she'd chosen it as Joyce's final resting place.
It had been one of the many things she thought long and hard about, those first few frantic days after…when she'd been so grateful for all the decisions that needed to be made, because they kept her from really thinking. But she had been sickened by the idea of having to worry about boogeymen sneaking up on her—or worse, Dawn—while visiting her mother's grave. Joyce's place should be clean…sacrosanct, with no demons to trouble her eternal dreaming.
Though it wasn't like Buffy didn't usually bring her own demons along for the ride…
And the gravestone itself was like a monster sometimes…a poisonous beast of pale stone and whispered sorcery, making her throat ache…sneaking up on her right before her eyes…before she was ready to face it…
Her knuckles whitened momentarily around the bouquet of day lilies and snapdragons she carried. The lady at the flower shop down the street from the Magic Box had said that lilies were the best way to say good-bye to a loved one…and Buffy knew that her mother had always had a fondness for snapdragons.
Not sad today…no sadness in Buffy-land! Today in Buffy's World is all about happiness and puppies and snuggles! Buffy had to struggle to remind herself that this visit was supposed to be different. Special. I'll see her tomorrow…!
"Hey, mom." She knelt carefully beside the narrow strip of grass that, even after so many months, was still a noticeably different shade of green than the surrounding turf. Buffy found the uneven rectangle of overly-brilliant growth somehow comforting. Even if it was just the fault of a groundskeeper being unnecessarily zealous with the fertilizing spray…she liked to think that even the most insignificant of living things could flourish in Joyce's presence.
And even a few of the unliving ones, a pointed little voice muttered darkly in her mind.
To distract herself (and silence that little voice!), Buffy reached out to touch the polished chill of the stone, her fingers sliding lovingly down the slick face as if it were a warm cheek. A wan smile lit her face as she traced the rougher grooves of the letters—J…O…Y…C…E…S…U…M…M…E…R…S—and recalled the thrilling news she had come to relate.
"I brought you some more flowers," she began, conversationally. "Lilies and, of course, your favorite." A small frown creased her brows. "I dunno why the cemetery people keep taking away the old ones, but I guess it saves me the trouble of cleaning up after myself." Now her smile was lopsided and self-deprecating. "Never been very good at that, have I? You always had to pester me…" She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. "It's kind of weird, actually, 'cuz now I find myself doing the same thing with Dawn."
Then her features were smoothed by a swift, brilliant grin. "But Mom, I've got the most amazing news! You're not gonna believe it when I tell you…or, well, maybe you will. Heck, maybe you knew about it even before I did! I mean, you've probably got the inside scoop on all the celestial stuff now, right?" All day, the heady anticipation had been growing in Buffy's stomach, tickling her insides, so that she thought she might burst into gleeful giggles at any moment. Heaven! I'm going back…!
She took a deep breath, and launched into the story. "Okay, so me and the gang were researching this weird thing a demon said last night, and then this guy came in. He looked pretty normal at first, but then he was like, 'hey, I can help you with that,' and he…" Her tone was quick and light-hearted, and her attitude sparkled through the words in a way that it had not for several years past. Not since her first few months in Sunnydale—before the melodrama that had been her relationship with Angel—had Buffy felt so carefree.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Spike stood several grave-rows behind her, in the shadow of one of the taller monuments, just listening. She sounded so happy, so…young. For as long as he'd known her, the Slayer had always been a little waif of a girl, with eyes too old for her youthful face. She was a force of nature…the brilliant passion of a shooting star and the wisdom of the ages, all wrapped up in a deceptively fragile package. He'd known her to be playful, sure…even a bit devil-may-care at times—the silly little chit. But never before had Spike been struck so forcibly by how young Buffy was.
Not even twenty-one yet, is she? Cor…to've seen so much, and so little time… It made him feel old beyond any mortal measure. Old and parched…brittle, even, as though he might crumble into dust even as he stood there watching, as she tossed her golden tresses and laughed a high, carefree giggle of undiluted exhilaration, as she continued her chatty monologue to the solitary audience of the corpse beneath the grass.
«I died so many years ago…but you can make me feel like it isn't so…»
He took a deep breath, filling his dead lungs with air he didn't need, just to nerve himself up enough to face her…one last time. His fingers tightened convulsively around the two clusters of blossoms he'd brought, one for each of the two Summers women—well, the two that spend the bulk of their time in the cemetery, that is. Easing the oxygen gradually back out through his nose, Spike clenched his jaw, and stepped softly forward, through the low forest of stone and moonlight.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~