Title: A Soul's Price (sequel / companion to Too Late The Dream)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Buffy tvs is owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, I'm just borrowing them for the purposes of this story

Spoilers: AU Buffy story set during between season 6 and 7

Feedback: May be provided here or sent to aeryncrichton@hotmail.com

Pairings: Buffy / Spike

Subject: Sequel / Companion story to Too Late The Dream, Spike's POV

*****

I left Sunnydale for one reason. I wanted... no, I needed a soul.

I knew that Buffy could never love me as I was. When she looked at me she saw a monster.

And if I could see my own bloody reflection, I was sure that's what I'd see.

Once I had a soul, I'd fly back to Sunnydale as fast as I could sodden arrange.

I didn't count on the pain, the disorientation. Or the torment, like a vice lock that it would hold me in. So it took longer than I'd planned to make it back.

Finally though, after surviving the tests and winning the soul... making it through the torment of having the bloody thing put back and regaining enough semblance of sanity to make my way back, I was here. Smack dab in the middle of Sunnydale.

Funny thing was, now that I was here I had a bad feeling. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I'd had plenty of pig's blood before I started my trip, so I knew it wasn't hunger. It was a bitch of a thing and as much as I didn't want to admit it, this feeling reminded me of one of Dru's bloody riddles after she'd had one of her visions.

Every time I'd gotten close to Sunnydale and the Hellmouth in the past, I'd felt that powerful pull, the energy that drew vampires to the Slayer, like flower's pollen attracts honeybees. It was there, but it was faint... weak, like a shaft of light through the morning mist rather than the pure golden sunlight that was Buffy's smile.

Without thinking, I began to run. I'd stopped at Buffy's house and picked up the leather duster that I'd unthinkingly left behind months ago. I was surprised that she had it in the back of her closet. But it gave me hope, the fact that she'd hung onto it, even though I had gone.

The leather duster flapped in the wind, as my feet carried me closer and closer to my Slayer, to Buffy.

I spotted the mangled mini-van, which had broken through the front brick wall of the Sunnydale Post Office. It looked just like Joyce's mini.

No. It couldn't be. Mustn't be.

It was.

I could feel her, faintly, as though moment by moment, her life force were dwindling and fading just a little bit more.

I ran to the driver's side door and when it didn't open of it's own accord when I pulled the handle, I ripped it off at the hinges and threw it behind me, uncaring of where it might land. My only thought was to get to Buffy.

She was unconscious and pinned between the steering column and the seat. I could see that there was no way I could pull her out of the vehicle, at least not without the possibility of injuring her further.

"Buffy," I whispered, trying to elicit some sort of response from her.

Beside her I could see that the contents of her purse had spilled onto the passenger seat and among the refuse was her cell phone. I reached across, snagged it and dialed 9-1-1.

"That's right. This is an emergency. On the corner of Oak Street and Main. Send the fire department and an ambulance. There's a woman trapped inside her crashed mini-van," I explained to the woman on the other end of the line.

I reached out and touched Buffy's shoulder, eliciting a strangled moan.

Finally after what seemed an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a few seconds, Buffy's eyes fluttered open. She looked over and saw me. Then she reached out to touch my face with her left hand.

I stood as still as a post. I was rooted to the ground. Couldn't think, couldn't act, couldn't breathe if I had needed to in that moment.

Buffy's hand smoothed its way across the plains of my cheek and into my hair and I didn't know when anything had ever felt so good. I wanted to close my eyes and savor the moment, but at the same time I couldn't bear to close them when her green eyes were telling me what she'd always been too afraid to admit.

Finally, she found her voice and she whispered, "Spike, I love you," just as her hand dropped away, listlessly falling to her side.

I picked up her wrist and felt for a pulse, but there was none. Then I put my fingers on her carotid, hoping to find at least a sluggish pulse there. No dice.

She was wedged, trapped and though I feared doing more damage, I feared that doing nothing would be more risky at this point. I took a hold of the car seat that Buffy was sitting in and pulled it backwards, ripping it free from its mooring.

With one hand under her knees and the other behind her neck, I picked her up and gently took her out of the van. I laid her on the blacktop a few steps away.

I put my ear to her mouth and I could neither hear nor feel a breath from her. That was something I could do nothing about.

I started compressions on her heart, hoping that if I could keep it beating, the EMT's could revive her. With her Slayer strength she should heal.

She wasn't supposed to die like this. I never wanted to see her die at all, even though I knew that eventually it was likely to happen, since I was an immortal vampire and she, although Slayer strong, was merely human.

It seemed to take forever for the Fire Truck and Ambulance to finally arrive. Once they did, I let them take over. I couldn't explain my inability to help Buffy breath. I had no breath to give, for I needed none to live myself.

It wasn't until I heard one of the EMT's announce to the other, 'time of death, 8:55 PM,' that I realized she was gone.

Buffy was dead.

What is the price of a soul? Eternal unhappiness is what has been granted to me.

I have a soul. The one thing that might have bought me a few shining moments of happiness with Buffy. But before I could tell her, before she could know, she expired, like a carton of milk left outside of an icebox too long.

She told me she loved me. But what is that measured against having her beside me? A brief balm, all too quickly buried as her body will be once again under the soil.

I have to get a hold of myself. I made promises to Buffy. Promises that I have to keep, especially now that she's dead. Again.

There's the nibblet. She'll be hurting. For a long time. Dawn will need me.

The rest of Buffy's friends, for all that they can't bloody well stand me, will have to learn to put up with me once again. Because I'm not going away. I'll be here as long as the nibblet needs me. Maybe even longer than she thinks she does.

Because without Buffy, Dawn's the only anchor I have to this world. The only one that counts.

The End