** Lyrics by James Marsters

Buffy dropped the book on the ground as she gasped out loud. 'The chip. Spike's chip isn't working!' Buffy left the book where it lay and yanked on her shoes. She grabbed a stake and flew out the door, not even bothering to lock it.

The sprint to the cemetery wasn't too bad, her injuries only slowing her up a bit. As his crypt came into view, she slowed her pace. She didn't know what she was doing, she just knew she had to do *some*thing. The Slayer instinct kicking in again. The Slayer that she didn't want to be anymore. Why should she have to do anything? Why couldn't she just pretend she hadn't read that? Why couldn't she just go visit him like they were old friends, instead of heading in to stake the only person she didn't cringe at the thought of being around?

When she reached the crypt, she realized she was still wearing Spike's duster. She pulled it tight around her again and stood in front of his door, unsure of what she should do. Just then she heard it. Soft, soft strains of music from inside. A guitar. 'Spike can't play the guitar.' Then singing. His voice sounded so sad. She sat against the crypt wall and listened.
Bright diamond eyes with daggers beneath them

She carries the chains of a million decisions

That weren't even hers to begin with anyway

But she carries them all

All the people around her

Never even notice that she's very, very tired
She's an angel

But she can't see it

She's got wings

But she can't feel 'em

She's an angel

But she can't see it

But she's rising above me every day

Everyday of my life

Buffy couldn't hold her tears back. Where did he find a song that so perfectly fit how she was feeling? Chains of a million decisions. No one noticing she's tired. Everything fit except the angel part. She didn't feel very angelic at the moment. Buffy's head sunk into her hands as she cried. After a moment, the music stopped, but she didn't notice. The crypt door opened slowly, and he stood silently by. She finally noticed him and looked up. He had been crying too. He sat next to her without a word, leaning against the crypt. They both sighed heavily.

"What brings you out, love?" Spike spoke without looking at her.

Buffy looked up at the sky. "Oh, it looked like a lovely night to kill something."

Spike cocked his head at her with furrowed brow. "You really think you're up to patrolling already? Pet, take some time off. You need to rest. Get your strength up. More important things than slaying, you know. I've got the patrolling covered."

Buffy chuckled sadly. "More important things than being the Slayer? What could that be?"

Spike sighed, trying to figure out her mood and how best to approach it. Women were difficult to read, but Buffy had always been an enigma to him. But she switched gears on him again.

"That song. It was nice. Who sings it?"

Spike smiled. "I do, pet."

She gave him a 'duh' look. "Yeah, I *heard*. But I mean, who sings it for real? Who wrote it?"

Spike leaned his head back against the crypt, looking at the stars. "No one. And me."

Buffy looked at him, doubting. "You wrote it? You told me your poetry was 'bloody awful.' And that's all a song is, poetry with music. That was...amazing. When did you write it?"

Spike still didn't look at her. "Today, mostly. Didn't feel like sleeping much. It sort of just came to me."

"That song. The words..they're...not about me, are they?"

Spike gave a rueful smile, feeling déjà vu. He knew he shouldn't be a fool again, but how could he be anything but honest with her?

"Every syllable." Spike gave a quick glance to see her reaction, but her face showed no expression. 'Well, it could have been worse.'

"Oh...I'm not an angel, you know."

Spike smiled at her. "Yes, you are. You always have been, but now you've been to heaven. That just makes it official."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you sing it again for me?" Buffy asked shyly.

Spike swallowed hard. "Uh, I don't know, pet. I mean, it's not very good. And I don't do well with an audience." Spike was trying to cover for the fact that he was pretty sure if he sang it to her, he'd not be able to stay composed.

"Please? It's so nice, and no one's ever written anything for me." Her voice was a whisper, and Spike knew he was sunk.

"Ok, pet. Just hold on a minute. I need to make my place presentable." Spike jumped up and went into the crypt.

Buffy sat outside, enjoying the fresh night air. It was the one part of slaying she didn't mind. The air was always so quiet and calm at night, especially in a graveyard. Well, at least when all the baddies had been dispatched. Spike appeared again, offering his hand to help her up. She took it and smiled.

"Still wearing the duster, pet? You like it so much, maybe I'll get you one your size."

"Oh yeah, I was bringing it back to you." Buffy started to take it off, but Spike stopped her.

"No, you keep it for now. It's kind of chilly tonight, you need it more than I do."

Buffy was secretly grateful, because she didn't want to give it back. She liked the way the leather swallowed her whole. She could get lost in it. Spike let her enter the crypt first, and she gasped. He had lit all the candles he owned. The room was aglow with softness. Buffy turned to him and couldn't hold her tears in. She grabbed him in a hug that surprised them both. She quickly released him, and he stood there, still stunned, for a moment.

"Thank you. This is...oh, god." Buffy began sobbing.

Spike felt as if he had made a huge mistake. 'Stupid git, what were you thinking? Make her remember the wonderful place she was in? Yeah, bloody brilliant, until she remembers she's not there anymore.' "Oh, Buffy, I'm sorry. I just thought...it was stupid, I'm so sorry." Spike started blowing out the candles, but Buffy reached out for his arm. He turned to see her smiling through her tears.

"Please, don't. This is wonderful. Will you just play your song for me?"

Spike nodded and led her to a lazy chair. "*Your* song, pet."

She smiled and said, "Can I get that in writing?" Just then she remembered the journal. The chip. Spike was free to kill...and write love songs for someone who couldn't love. She couldn't reconcile the two just then, so she decided to put it aside. Deal with it later. Tonight she wanted to sit in the soft glow of light and love, hoping something would rub off on her. Spike could love so strongly, and he was a soulless demon. She was a human Slayer who couldn't love at all.

Spike impressed himself by completing the song without a breakdown. Buffy only lost a few tears. Spike sighed deeply as he put down his guitar, watching Buffy gaze off somewhere unknown.

Without warning, she began talking. "You know why I like this coat?"

Spike smiled sweetly, though she never saw as she was still staring distantly. "Why is that, pet?"

"Because..before I jumped..you were there. Do you remember? I hugged you."

Spike felt his heart in his throat at the memory. He whispered, "I remember, luv."

"And I remember burying my face in your duster. I remember how it smelled, how it felt on my skin. The leather, the roughness, the little creaky sounds it made. And that's the last time I remember feeling happy. Truly and deeply happy. Because I was confident in what I was doing. I was ready to do it, ready to let it all go. I felt safe in your arms, because I felt safe in my decision. I didn't have any fear or doubt about anything. I felt so complete, right at that moment. And the jacket reminds me of that. The feeling...it comes back when I touch this jacket and...and when I'm around you. I can't really explain it."

Spike stood up and walked to Buffy. He kneeled in front of her. "You don't have to explain anything, Buffy. Everything that's happened to you defies explanation. You keep that old duster as long as you need to. Looks better on you anyway. And you should know by now you're always welcome here. If there's anything I can do to...I don't know, help you with whatever you're going through...I know I haven't experienced what you have. I came back from the dead, but I don't remember being dead. And well, I guess I'm still dead. So, yeah, I guess I'm the perfect guy to reminisce being dead with. And I never thought I'd see heaven either. But you've given it to me."

Buffy looked at him oddly. "How?"

"Just being here, pet. Just you being here, alive. It's the only vision of heaven that ever mattered to me." Spike was looking so intensely at Buffy, she thought he might bore a hole into her with his gaze.

Buffy stood up, and Spike followed suit. "I better go now. Get to bed. I've been asleep all day, but I'm still tired. I don't know why. I'm just so tired."

Spike walked Buffy out the door and said, "I know, pet. I know."

She turned as she went, looking at him one last time. "You really do, don't you?"

Spike nodded mutely as she walked away. Their mutual exhaustion transcended sleep. Spike wondered if they would ever feel awake again.

**

R&R pretty please. It's what keeps writers writing!!