You Know Not The Day Nor the Hour
by Lynne C.
Rating: PG (ever-so light swearing)
Disclaimer: It's all Joss' – I worship at the altar of his genius, and acknowledge that he owns all these folks and everything that they do and say.
Setting: Anytime post-"Potential" (7.12), intended to act as "stuff that happened but not while we were looking". In other words, it tries not to contradict anything that's happened already or (trickier) might be about to happen!
Summary: Spike contemplates the unknown culmination of The First's anticipated apocalypse, and takes steps to prepare for certain possibilities.
Note: ~ Marks set off thoughts ~ (It seems this system can't handle italics! Pity!)
"What do you mean, he went out?" Buffy stared at Rona, uncomprehending.
"Just what I said – He. Went. Out. What, was I supposed to restrain him or something?" The potential slayer rolled her eyes and returned to rummaging through the Summers' refrigerator. "And are we out of Dr. Pepper again?"
"But where did he go?"
"Daamn, Buffy, I don't know. He's supposedly one of us, older than most of us put together, and stronger than me? Why would I ask where he was going? Last thing I want to do is piss him off! He's probably out of cigarettes again!" Her words were punctuated by the slamming of the refrigerator door. She stared somewhat sullenly at Buffy as she popped the top on the generic cola she'd finally fished out of the back of the fridge.
"Sorry, Rona…I'm just surprised is all. The last thing we need is him falling back into The First's hands…"
"Well, that's all I know. He left maybe a half hour ago." The younger girl turned back towards the living room, pausing to add over her shoulder, "He did say he wouldn't be gone long – whatever that means." And then Buffy was alone in the kitchen.
Her imagination immediately kicked into gear, presenting an array of dire fates which could befall the vampire. ~What if The First's minions are lurking in the neighborhood? What if there's too many of them – his injuries still aren't all healed…What if -- ~
Buffy mentally shook herself to derail this somewhat panicky train of thought. ~ Okay, calm down. He is a big boy and can take care of himself…mostly. ~ She glanced at the clock on the microwave, and noted that it was still an hour or more until sunset. ~ Leave it to Spike to run errands in broad daylight! He's always been one weird vamp. ~ She realized that in all the years she'd known him, Spike had never seemed particularly inclined to be nocturnal. Weird. This time she actually did shake her head, and gave a tiny chuckle. ~ Okay, no worrying until…~ she looked at the clock again…~ 5:30? Sure, 5:30…two hours is plenty to run a mysterious errand before I begin to think about getting wiggy! ~
Resolved to be calm and trust in the momentary beneficence of The Powers That Be, she turned to the sinkful of dishes, grabbed the sprayer, and began hosing off the evidence of her packed home. And she tried to pretend that she wasn't counting the minutes as they passed.
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"Gee, Spike, are you sure you don't want me to clear out of here?"
"Neh…Slayer seems to want to keep an eye on me – Kinda circling the wagons, I think." Spike lolled sideways across the armchair in front of the now-dark television set. He gestured with his cigarette as he spoke, scattering ash on the floor. "'Sides, she's got all these teenagers running around, and needs another minder for 'em."
"Well, you say the word, and I'll be out of here, and you can have your crypt back to yourself," replied the demon who sat cross-legged on the vault.
"Sure, Clem…maybe once this business with The First's over with…." ~ Though, how that's gonna happen is anyone's guess…. ~ The vampire took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, forgetting momentarily that he wasn't alone.
The silence had stretched to several minutes before Spike realized it, coming back to the present with a start. "But, thanks for the company, mate. All those giggling girls, and I include Harris and that pale kid with the rest of 'em, can sure get on a fellow's last nerve. Now, though, I'd best be going, seein' as it's dark enough to get around without the blanket" Spike unfolded himself from the chair, ground out his cigarette, and picked up the cardboard box and rolled up blanket that sat at his foot.
"Sure thing, Spike. Swing by whenever you want…it is your place, after all." Clem slid off the sarcophagus and joined him at the entrance to the crypt. "And –" The demon shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and scratched behind one of his ears, before continuing "I was real sorry to hear you'd been worked over so badly….take care, okay?"
"Right. Well, you know, it take's a bit of doin' to do me in. Bloody ironic it was, that my blood let that Turuk-han loose, and that's what did such a number on me." He snorted derisively and shook his head. "But, I figure maybe it's all part of some cosmic scale-balancing – after all the havoc I wrecked in my day."
"Yeah, well…anyway, I'm glad you made it out. Say, let the Slayer know that if there's anything I can do to help, she can count on me to pitch in."
"Will do." Spike headed out into the lowering dusk, calling back to the demon in the doorway, "And thanks, mate!"
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~ 5:25…Still not quite panic time… ~ Buffy was aimlessly flipping through a month-old fashion magazine. She'd finished the mountain of dishes, then moved on to folding the mountain of laundry that had been pulled out of the dryer and heaped up on top of the appliance over the last several days. Willow, Dawn and Vi and Kennedy had, at various times passed through the kitchen, going various directions, generally with stops at the fridge or the pantry on the way. Buffy had kept sufficiently busy to minimize the need for conversation with them, focusing intently on not focusing on Spike's absence.
~ 5:26…Still not quite – ooo, that's a fun lip gloss…kinda sparkly. I wonder if the glittery stuff sticks to your teeth though…Hmmm, if it does, I wonder if it shines in the dark…. ~
At 5:27, the kitchen door opened and Spike strolled in.
"Where have you been?" The sparkly lip gloss now forgotten, Buffy stood, addressing Spike with more sharpness than she'd intended.
"Down, Buffy. Just ran by my crypt to pick up a few things, since it seems I'll be needed here for a while yet."
"Oh. Well…you could let someone know, how was I to —"
"I told that Rona chit I was goin' out, and din't 'spect to be long. Not my fault if she didn't let you know. What, the Slayerettes getting out of hand without something to keep 'em lookin' over their shoulders?"
"She told me that much, but…well…." Buffy was feeling a bit silly for her worry, and wished she'd not been caught waiting for him like he was an errant husband. "What if you'd been set on by a pack of 'bringers? I wouldn't have even known where to start looking…" she finished, a bit weakly, not meeting his eyes.
Spike set his carton and blanket down on the table, and hunkered down until he was looking Buffy in the eye. In times past, he might have tilted her chin up to achieve the effect, but he was still wary of touching her, lest she recoil from him again. He sighed at this realization. ~ Long way to go before even that scale balances, mate, never mind all the others…. ~
"Buffy, I'm fine. Just had some personal things I'd been wishin' for, so I nipped over to get 'em. I figured daylight was as safe a time as any. At the risk of bein' trite, if we let ourselves be prisoners in this house, The First has already half-beaten us. But I appreciate the concern…."
Buffy crossed her arms, looked away, and smiled wryly. "Yeah, well…we just can't have you getting broken all over again. Sorry I jumped on you."
The vampire had straightened, and stepped back to lean against the counter. Now his lips twitched and an eyebrow lifted.
"Er, that I snapped at you – was…what I…meant."
"Yeah, 's aright." Spike didn't pursue her slip of the tongue, knowing things still weren't comfortable enough between them for innuendo to go over well. Besides…his desire for intimacy with her went so far beyond the physical, that it seemed almost to profane the depth of his emotions to treat what remained a very real physical desire in the flippant and throw-away manner he might once have done. He sighed again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and regarding her intently.
"What?" She knew that head tilt…It pretty much always meant Deep Spike Thoughts, something she'd never really learned how to deal with. ~ Weird vamp. In every way. And how does that make you feel, Buffy? Shut up, ~ she warned her inner shrink. ~ You know we don't like to get into that. ~
"Nothin' for you to worry yer pretty head about." He smiled at her as he pushed off the counter and walked to the table to gather up his goods. "'Cept sometimes you look so much like yer mum." He paused before turning towards the basement steps, telling her, "and, I _am_ sorry if I worried you. With everything going on, I s'pose I should have let you know."
He then left a dumbfounded Buffy staring at his retreating back.
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It was a couple of hours later that soft footfalls on the basement steps broke his concentration. He looked up from his work to see Willow hesitating at the base of the steps.
"Hey-a, Red."
"Hey-a, Spike. You didn't come up for dinner, so I brought you some blood. Gotta keep your strength up, after all!"
Spike stood as the she approached him, accepting the warm mug with a nod, and taking a sip or two.
"Thanks, Red. Din't realize how late it was. I'd best get ready to patrol with the kiddies."
"Whatcha workin' on?" Willow curiously surveyed the paraphernalia he'd spread out on the small table in the basement corner.
"Let's call it a little insurance policy."
"Huh?"
Without replying, Spike set the mug down, and picked up a stick of sealing wax. He dug for a moment in his pocket, extracting his lighter. He lit the candle stub that sat next to the folded pages he'd evidently been laboring over. He deftly passed the wax stick through the flame several times, then smeared a softened glob of wax across the open edges of the paper. He then wrapped a narrow string in both directions around the squared paper, crossing them in the still-soft wax, and pressing them in with his thumb.
Willow watched with silent interest as he finished this task. Finally, he looked down at her, and clarified, "an insurance policy. Red, I don't know exactly what's coming. But if Buffy survives it, and I don't – " ~ and this time, if it's a matter of one of us, by God, it will be me…~ he took a breath before continuing, "please give her this."
"But Spike…"
"No buts, Red. With any luck, when this is all over, I'll ask for it back, and that'll be that. But if not…just make sure she gets it."
Dampness glittered in Willow's eyes as she took the letter and tucked it into a pocket. The gentleness in her gaze as she looked at him was humbling, and he looked at the table in embarrassment. "Spike…I – I'll hold this for you, 'til you ask for it back. But," she faltered then, and reached up to cup his cheek for a moment. His astonishment at her caress was evident, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Willow continued, and her hand fell to his shoulder. "I want you to know I'm sorry that we only saw the bad in you for so long. I mean…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I understand now that none of us is all good or all bad." She cleared her throat, and her voice strengthened again, "and I just wanted you to know that we all know now how hard you were trying, even when we didn't give you any encouragement. And, I know that love can change someone for the better, and loss can change them for the worse…."
An answering dampness had risen in Spike's eyes, and he didn't entirely trust his voice. So he reached out and gave the witch a fierce, quick hug. She squeezed him back, chuckling through her emotion and discomfort. ~ Boy, is this weird, ~ she thought.
The vampire released her, cleared his throat and blinked quickly. "Well. Thanks for lettin' me know. Not a word of this to anyone else though – I gotta keep those Slayerettes thinkin' I'm all vicious and such." They smiled at each other with understanding. Then, Spike's tone softened again. "And I want you to know how sorry I was at losin' Glinda. She was real good people. 'N so are you – you din't deserve to lose someone like that…Now you get outta here so I can finish my cuppa and get my Big Bad on for the freshmen up there."
Willow sniffled and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes as she turned for the stairs.
Several minutes later, Spike joined the rest of the patrolling party in the kitchen.
"You were hidden down there for a while…what's up?" Buffy's tone was casual, but her sideways glance was rich with piqued feminine curiosity.
"What? A body's got to immerse himself all day and all night in teenage girl hormones and nail polish? Just gettin' a bit o' me solitude." The slayer raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but let the matter go.
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Willow had tucked the letter into the back of the drawer in which she kept her particular private momentos of Tara. She knew it would be safe there – that no prying eyes would stumble across it accidentally. She was terribly curious as to just what it might contain, though she was quite certain that she knew the tenor of it. She'd hesitated when she'd put it away, considering the handwriting on the outside. It simply read, "Buffy," but the letters were swoop-y and in a hand that she would never have associated with Spike. ~ Just goes to show, she'd thought, how right the Victorian education system had been to teach penmanship. ~
As much as she had wanted to know what Spike had written, she'd never have tried to find out. And, she realized, she had to hope that she never would know; that The First would be neutralized, and Spike would take his letter back, and that would be the end of it; that Buffy wouldn't find herself in the position to grieve another loss. Whatever Buffy tried to pretend about her feelings for Spike, Willow knew they were much deeper and more complex than she'd ever admitted – to herself or anyone else. And if Spike were lost, Buffy _would_ grieve – and would feel that she had to do so in secret.
So, she'd put the letter away, and then lit a second candle on her side table. Ever since Tara's death, she'd kept one burning as a memory to her. Something like a continual prayer – a prayer for exactly what, she couldn't have said. Now she lit another one, as a prayer for all the rest of them; that they'd all somehow survive the struggle to come.
And then, she'd sighed sadly, and gone downstairs to whip up a batch of cookies for the hungry hunters when they returned.
Stay tuned for part two, which will be the conclusion of this little vignette.
by Lynne C.
Rating: PG (ever-so light swearing)
Disclaimer: It's all Joss' – I worship at the altar of his genius, and acknowledge that he owns all these folks and everything that they do and say.
Setting: Anytime post-"Potential" (7.12), intended to act as "stuff that happened but not while we were looking". In other words, it tries not to contradict anything that's happened already or (trickier) might be about to happen!
Summary: Spike contemplates the unknown culmination of The First's anticipated apocalypse, and takes steps to prepare for certain possibilities.
Note: ~ Marks set off thoughts ~ (It seems this system can't handle italics! Pity!)
"What do you mean, he went out?" Buffy stared at Rona, uncomprehending.
"Just what I said – He. Went. Out. What, was I supposed to restrain him or something?" The potential slayer rolled her eyes and returned to rummaging through the Summers' refrigerator. "And are we out of Dr. Pepper again?"
"But where did he go?"
"Daamn, Buffy, I don't know. He's supposedly one of us, older than most of us put together, and stronger than me? Why would I ask where he was going? Last thing I want to do is piss him off! He's probably out of cigarettes again!" Her words were punctuated by the slamming of the refrigerator door. She stared somewhat sullenly at Buffy as she popped the top on the generic cola she'd finally fished out of the back of the fridge.
"Sorry, Rona…I'm just surprised is all. The last thing we need is him falling back into The First's hands…"
"Well, that's all I know. He left maybe a half hour ago." The younger girl turned back towards the living room, pausing to add over her shoulder, "He did say he wouldn't be gone long – whatever that means." And then Buffy was alone in the kitchen.
Her imagination immediately kicked into gear, presenting an array of dire fates which could befall the vampire. ~What if The First's minions are lurking in the neighborhood? What if there's too many of them – his injuries still aren't all healed…What if -- ~
Buffy mentally shook herself to derail this somewhat panicky train of thought. ~ Okay, calm down. He is a big boy and can take care of himself…mostly. ~ She glanced at the clock on the microwave, and noted that it was still an hour or more until sunset. ~ Leave it to Spike to run errands in broad daylight! He's always been one weird vamp. ~ She realized that in all the years she'd known him, Spike had never seemed particularly inclined to be nocturnal. Weird. This time she actually did shake her head, and gave a tiny chuckle. ~ Okay, no worrying until…~ she looked at the clock again…~ 5:30? Sure, 5:30…two hours is plenty to run a mysterious errand before I begin to think about getting wiggy! ~
Resolved to be calm and trust in the momentary beneficence of The Powers That Be, she turned to the sinkful of dishes, grabbed the sprayer, and began hosing off the evidence of her packed home. And she tried to pretend that she wasn't counting the minutes as they passed.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Gee, Spike, are you sure you don't want me to clear out of here?"
"Neh…Slayer seems to want to keep an eye on me – Kinda circling the wagons, I think." Spike lolled sideways across the armchair in front of the now-dark television set. He gestured with his cigarette as he spoke, scattering ash on the floor. "'Sides, she's got all these teenagers running around, and needs another minder for 'em."
"Well, you say the word, and I'll be out of here, and you can have your crypt back to yourself," replied the demon who sat cross-legged on the vault.
"Sure, Clem…maybe once this business with The First's over with…." ~ Though, how that's gonna happen is anyone's guess…. ~ The vampire took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, forgetting momentarily that he wasn't alone.
The silence had stretched to several minutes before Spike realized it, coming back to the present with a start. "But, thanks for the company, mate. All those giggling girls, and I include Harris and that pale kid with the rest of 'em, can sure get on a fellow's last nerve. Now, though, I'd best be going, seein' as it's dark enough to get around without the blanket" Spike unfolded himself from the chair, ground out his cigarette, and picked up the cardboard box and rolled up blanket that sat at his foot.
"Sure thing, Spike. Swing by whenever you want…it is your place, after all." Clem slid off the sarcophagus and joined him at the entrance to the crypt. "And –" The demon shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and scratched behind one of his ears, before continuing "I was real sorry to hear you'd been worked over so badly….take care, okay?"
"Right. Well, you know, it take's a bit of doin' to do me in. Bloody ironic it was, that my blood let that Turuk-han loose, and that's what did such a number on me." He snorted derisively and shook his head. "But, I figure maybe it's all part of some cosmic scale-balancing – after all the havoc I wrecked in my day."
"Yeah, well…anyway, I'm glad you made it out. Say, let the Slayer know that if there's anything I can do to help, she can count on me to pitch in."
"Will do." Spike headed out into the lowering dusk, calling back to the demon in the doorway, "And thanks, mate!"
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~ 5:25…Still not quite panic time… ~ Buffy was aimlessly flipping through a month-old fashion magazine. She'd finished the mountain of dishes, then moved on to folding the mountain of laundry that had been pulled out of the dryer and heaped up on top of the appliance over the last several days. Willow, Dawn and Vi and Kennedy had, at various times passed through the kitchen, going various directions, generally with stops at the fridge or the pantry on the way. Buffy had kept sufficiently busy to minimize the need for conversation with them, focusing intently on not focusing on Spike's absence.
~ 5:26…Still not quite – ooo, that's a fun lip gloss…kinda sparkly. I wonder if the glittery stuff sticks to your teeth though…Hmmm, if it does, I wonder if it shines in the dark…. ~
At 5:27, the kitchen door opened and Spike strolled in.
"Where have you been?" The sparkly lip gloss now forgotten, Buffy stood, addressing Spike with more sharpness than she'd intended.
"Down, Buffy. Just ran by my crypt to pick up a few things, since it seems I'll be needed here for a while yet."
"Oh. Well…you could let someone know, how was I to —"
"I told that Rona chit I was goin' out, and din't 'spect to be long. Not my fault if she didn't let you know. What, the Slayerettes getting out of hand without something to keep 'em lookin' over their shoulders?"
"She told me that much, but…well…." Buffy was feeling a bit silly for her worry, and wished she'd not been caught waiting for him like he was an errant husband. "What if you'd been set on by a pack of 'bringers? I wouldn't have even known where to start looking…" she finished, a bit weakly, not meeting his eyes.
Spike set his carton and blanket down on the table, and hunkered down until he was looking Buffy in the eye. In times past, he might have tilted her chin up to achieve the effect, but he was still wary of touching her, lest she recoil from him again. He sighed at this realization. ~ Long way to go before even that scale balances, mate, never mind all the others…. ~
"Buffy, I'm fine. Just had some personal things I'd been wishin' for, so I nipped over to get 'em. I figured daylight was as safe a time as any. At the risk of bein' trite, if we let ourselves be prisoners in this house, The First has already half-beaten us. But I appreciate the concern…."
Buffy crossed her arms, looked away, and smiled wryly. "Yeah, well…we just can't have you getting broken all over again. Sorry I jumped on you."
The vampire had straightened, and stepped back to lean against the counter. Now his lips twitched and an eyebrow lifted.
"Er, that I snapped at you – was…what I…meant."
"Yeah, 's aright." Spike didn't pursue her slip of the tongue, knowing things still weren't comfortable enough between them for innuendo to go over well. Besides…his desire for intimacy with her went so far beyond the physical, that it seemed almost to profane the depth of his emotions to treat what remained a very real physical desire in the flippant and throw-away manner he might once have done. He sighed again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and regarding her intently.
"What?" She knew that head tilt…It pretty much always meant Deep Spike Thoughts, something she'd never really learned how to deal with. ~ Weird vamp. In every way. And how does that make you feel, Buffy? Shut up, ~ she warned her inner shrink. ~ You know we don't like to get into that. ~
"Nothin' for you to worry yer pretty head about." He smiled at her as he pushed off the counter and walked to the table to gather up his goods. "'Cept sometimes you look so much like yer mum." He paused before turning towards the basement steps, telling her, "and, I _am_ sorry if I worried you. With everything going on, I s'pose I should have let you know."
He then left a dumbfounded Buffy staring at his retreating back.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a couple of hours later that soft footfalls on the basement steps broke his concentration. He looked up from his work to see Willow hesitating at the base of the steps.
"Hey-a, Red."
"Hey-a, Spike. You didn't come up for dinner, so I brought you some blood. Gotta keep your strength up, after all!"
Spike stood as the she approached him, accepting the warm mug with a nod, and taking a sip or two.
"Thanks, Red. Din't realize how late it was. I'd best get ready to patrol with the kiddies."
"Whatcha workin' on?" Willow curiously surveyed the paraphernalia he'd spread out on the small table in the basement corner.
"Let's call it a little insurance policy."
"Huh?"
Without replying, Spike set the mug down, and picked up a stick of sealing wax. He dug for a moment in his pocket, extracting his lighter. He lit the candle stub that sat next to the folded pages he'd evidently been laboring over. He deftly passed the wax stick through the flame several times, then smeared a softened glob of wax across the open edges of the paper. He then wrapped a narrow string in both directions around the squared paper, crossing them in the still-soft wax, and pressing them in with his thumb.
Willow watched with silent interest as he finished this task. Finally, he looked down at her, and clarified, "an insurance policy. Red, I don't know exactly what's coming. But if Buffy survives it, and I don't – " ~ and this time, if it's a matter of one of us, by God, it will be me…~ he took a breath before continuing, "please give her this."
"But Spike…"
"No buts, Red. With any luck, when this is all over, I'll ask for it back, and that'll be that. But if not…just make sure she gets it."
Dampness glittered in Willow's eyes as she took the letter and tucked it into a pocket. The gentleness in her gaze as she looked at him was humbling, and he looked at the table in embarrassment. "Spike…I – I'll hold this for you, 'til you ask for it back. But," she faltered then, and reached up to cup his cheek for a moment. His astonishment at her caress was evident, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Willow continued, and her hand fell to his shoulder. "I want you to know I'm sorry that we only saw the bad in you for so long. I mean…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I understand now that none of us is all good or all bad." She cleared her throat, and her voice strengthened again, "and I just wanted you to know that we all know now how hard you were trying, even when we didn't give you any encouragement. And, I know that love can change someone for the better, and loss can change them for the worse…."
An answering dampness had risen in Spike's eyes, and he didn't entirely trust his voice. So he reached out and gave the witch a fierce, quick hug. She squeezed him back, chuckling through her emotion and discomfort. ~ Boy, is this weird, ~ she thought.
The vampire released her, cleared his throat and blinked quickly. "Well. Thanks for lettin' me know. Not a word of this to anyone else though – I gotta keep those Slayerettes thinkin' I'm all vicious and such." They smiled at each other with understanding. Then, Spike's tone softened again. "And I want you to know how sorry I was at losin' Glinda. She was real good people. 'N so are you – you din't deserve to lose someone like that…Now you get outta here so I can finish my cuppa and get my Big Bad on for the freshmen up there."
Willow sniffled and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes as she turned for the stairs.
Several minutes later, Spike joined the rest of the patrolling party in the kitchen.
"You were hidden down there for a while…what's up?" Buffy's tone was casual, but her sideways glance was rich with piqued feminine curiosity.
"What? A body's got to immerse himself all day and all night in teenage girl hormones and nail polish? Just gettin' a bit o' me solitude." The slayer raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but let the matter go.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Willow had tucked the letter into the back of the drawer in which she kept her particular private momentos of Tara. She knew it would be safe there – that no prying eyes would stumble across it accidentally. She was terribly curious as to just what it might contain, though she was quite certain that she knew the tenor of it. She'd hesitated when she'd put it away, considering the handwriting on the outside. It simply read, "Buffy," but the letters were swoop-y and in a hand that she would never have associated with Spike. ~ Just goes to show, she'd thought, how right the Victorian education system had been to teach penmanship. ~
As much as she had wanted to know what Spike had written, she'd never have tried to find out. And, she realized, she had to hope that she never would know; that The First would be neutralized, and Spike would take his letter back, and that would be the end of it; that Buffy wouldn't find herself in the position to grieve another loss. Whatever Buffy tried to pretend about her feelings for Spike, Willow knew they were much deeper and more complex than she'd ever admitted – to herself or anyone else. And if Spike were lost, Buffy _would_ grieve – and would feel that she had to do so in secret.
So, she'd put the letter away, and then lit a second candle on her side table. Ever since Tara's death, she'd kept one burning as a memory to her. Something like a continual prayer – a prayer for exactly what, she couldn't have said. Now she lit another one, as a prayer for all the rest of them; that they'd all somehow survive the struggle to come.
And then, she'd sighed sadly, and gone downstairs to whip up a batch of cookies for the hungry hunters when they returned.
Stay tuned for part two, which will be the conclusion of this little vignette.