Title: His Second Grave
Author: Edith Campbell
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Buffy copes with loss post Season 7.
Spoilers: None. Lots. Helps if you've seen the finale. :)
Dedication: This one goes out to my mom. I love you bunches and I appreciate every single
moment you've spent reading my stupid stories (and since it's been over a decade I feel
quite confident in admitting that there were some REALLY stupid ones). You're everything
to me, Mom.
==
For the first month after Spike's death, Buffy is obsessed with providing him with a
proper burial. She spends hours painstakingly picking out an urn; she ruins her best skirt
gathering ashes from the site where he died. She has led a hard life. She knows the price
of sacrifice. She is adament that Spike's won't go unnoticed.
So she practically depletes her meager savings on flipperies that Spike probably wouldn't
like that much anyway. She gets two jobs in order to save up for the perfect tombstone.
She cries herself silly when she realizes that she doesn't even know his last name. There
is so much about him she never bothered to find out; so much about him that she'll never
get a chance to learn.
But she plugs on like the trooper she has always pretended to be. Nobody understands her now.
She has lost the only person ever capable of getting Buffy Summers. The realization is
staggering.
She buys him a plot in his graveyard, in plain sight of his crypt and underneath a large
tree. Its leaves cast enough shade that she will be able to sit there comfortably, but not
enough to rule out any sunlight.
In death, she decides, Spike deserves the sun.
Of course, when her friends found out about her plans they put a stop to all of them. Giles
insists on returning everything. Buffy isn't sure how he does it but he even manages to get her
a refund on the plot. She knows she should hate him but in truth she doesn't have the
energy to. Her relationship with him is as dead as the only man she could ever love with
any true passion and in truth, she is just too tired.
Dawn tries to make her feel better by reminding her that he probably has a grave somewhere in
London already. She spends awhile trying to find out where on the internet, but without that
surname they are still stuck. Dawn mourns for Spike as well but nobody mourns like Buffy.
She is denied a burial for him but she is determined.
Instead, she becomes a walking memorial. She wears his duster; she smokes his cigarettes.
She adopts a feminine version of his swagger and has no problem dropping words like "bloody".
Her hair returns to its unnatural blonde and she paints her finger nails black. She slays
with a passion that is no longer necessary now that she has defeated the First. If they
will not honour Spike she will.
This night, she sits on the porch overlooking her backyard. It has become a ritual for her,
almost as if she expects Spike to come strolling casually through the trees just looking to
piss her off. She knows it won't happen. Knows she is destined to say goodbye.
However, tonight the leaves move. She sits up a little, erecting her slouched posture, and
waits, ever the hunter. Her heart stops. She wants him to emerge, all puffed up cockiness.
Someone does emerge but it is not Spike. It's Xander.
"Hey," he says weakly, and if she didn't feel dead herself she might notice that Xander has lost
everything boyish about him. His eyes are underlined with thick bags and the frown that marrs
his once smiling lips is almost a permanent fixture.
"Hey," she returned, moving her gaze to the tips of her toes. She doesn't really want company
but if she has to have it, she's glad it's Xander. He understands her the most of all now.
He knows what it's like to lose the one you love.
He is carrying a bag which clinks as he walks closer to the porch. He stops a few feet away from
her and sets it on the ground. In his other hand, he is carrying a bouquet of brightly coloured
flowers. He says nothing. He doesn't need to. Buffy rises from her seat and, silently, they move
together towards the cemetary.
They shuffle quietly for ten minutes before Buffy has to ask, "What's in the bag?"
Xander shakes his head, the ghost of an old grin tugging at his mouth. Softly he says, "You'll
see when we get there."
Buffy nods and reaches inside the duster for her cigarettes. Everybody hates that she smokes.
She has heard everything there is to hear about lung cancer; about shortening her life. She does
not care. She has had enough of the world and everything in it. As she lights it, Xander says
nothing.
They stop first at Anya's grave and Buffy experiences a regular pang of jealousy because she has
one. Xander drops to his knees, emptying the vase of its old flowers and sliding the new
ones in. Buffy sits beside him and helps him clean out the grunge from her name with
Kleenex. She doesn't drop her butt near Anya, taking it instead to the bush. When she
returns, Xander looks up and says, "I loved her, you know."
Buffy's eyes flood immediately and all she can do is nod rapidly. Choking on the lump in her
throat, she murmurs, "I know. she knows."
Xander gives her a searching look and he adds meaningfully, "He knows."
They sit there for awhile and then he stands up, shouldering that mystery bag again. Taking
Buffy's hand, he pulls her in the direction of Spike's crypt. Her confusion grows as he sits down
by the side of it, pulling her with him.
She is about to ask him what he is doing, crouching behind Spike's old home, but is silenced
when he pulls from his bag a chisel and a pick. Awareness dawns on her and the love she feels
for Xander at the moment is overwhelming.
"Everybody should have something," he says, and then he begins to work.
She watches him chip away at the crypt's surface for awhile, carefully if not clumsily carving
out William "Spike". He stops at the last name and glances at Buffy. She already knows what
she wants it to say. she doesn't even need to think when she says, "Summers."
In death, she will give him herself. She can't think of another way to prove that her love
for him was real, if belated. Xander stares at her for awhile, understanding flooding his eyes.
He has not said an ill word about Spike since his death. Wordlessly, he begins to write her
own last name next to Spike's.
They have to discuss what else to write for a bit. William "Spike" Summers seems so sparse.
Xander wants to write "He gave it all for love" but that seems too corny for Buffy. In the end,
they choose, "He lived, he loved, and he's always been bad." Xander lets her use the pick
and she carves out a clumsy set of vampire fangs above his name.
Afterwards, she stares at it for awhile. She doesn't have the words to thank Xander but he
seems to get it. In one last gesture, he gets a flower from Anya's grave and allows Buffy to
lay it next to Spike's crypt. She is already planning how to make it pretty (but not too
pretty- she wants scarlet flowers, the colour of blood). What she does with it doesn't matter.
All that matters is that it's there. That she has somewhere to go and that forever, even
when she's gone, there will be a remembrance of Spike.
She smiles for the first time in what feels like forever as she leaves. With Xander
by her side, she heads home and off into the night, the sound of Spike's duster slapping
against her calves echoing off into the darkness in an eternal salute.
Author: Edith Campbell
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Buffy copes with loss post Season 7.
Spoilers: None. Lots. Helps if you've seen the finale. :)
Dedication: This one goes out to my mom. I love you bunches and I appreciate every single
moment you've spent reading my stupid stories (and since it's been over a decade I feel
quite confident in admitting that there were some REALLY stupid ones). You're everything
to me, Mom.
==
For the first month after Spike's death, Buffy is obsessed with providing him with a
proper burial. She spends hours painstakingly picking out an urn; she ruins her best skirt
gathering ashes from the site where he died. She has led a hard life. She knows the price
of sacrifice. She is adament that Spike's won't go unnoticed.
So she practically depletes her meager savings on flipperies that Spike probably wouldn't
like that much anyway. She gets two jobs in order to save up for the perfect tombstone.
She cries herself silly when she realizes that she doesn't even know his last name. There
is so much about him she never bothered to find out; so much about him that she'll never
get a chance to learn.
But she plugs on like the trooper she has always pretended to be. Nobody understands her now.
She has lost the only person ever capable of getting Buffy Summers. The realization is
staggering.
She buys him a plot in his graveyard, in plain sight of his crypt and underneath a large
tree. Its leaves cast enough shade that she will be able to sit there comfortably, but not
enough to rule out any sunlight.
In death, she decides, Spike deserves the sun.
Of course, when her friends found out about her plans they put a stop to all of them. Giles
insists on returning everything. Buffy isn't sure how he does it but he even manages to get her
a refund on the plot. She knows she should hate him but in truth she doesn't have the
energy to. Her relationship with him is as dead as the only man she could ever love with
any true passion and in truth, she is just too tired.
Dawn tries to make her feel better by reminding her that he probably has a grave somewhere in
London already. She spends awhile trying to find out where on the internet, but without that
surname they are still stuck. Dawn mourns for Spike as well but nobody mourns like Buffy.
She is denied a burial for him but she is determined.
Instead, she becomes a walking memorial. She wears his duster; she smokes his cigarettes.
She adopts a feminine version of his swagger and has no problem dropping words like "bloody".
Her hair returns to its unnatural blonde and she paints her finger nails black. She slays
with a passion that is no longer necessary now that she has defeated the First. If they
will not honour Spike she will.
This night, she sits on the porch overlooking her backyard. It has become a ritual for her,
almost as if she expects Spike to come strolling casually through the trees just looking to
piss her off. She knows it won't happen. Knows she is destined to say goodbye.
However, tonight the leaves move. She sits up a little, erecting her slouched posture, and
waits, ever the hunter. Her heart stops. She wants him to emerge, all puffed up cockiness.
Someone does emerge but it is not Spike. It's Xander.
"Hey," he says weakly, and if she didn't feel dead herself she might notice that Xander has lost
everything boyish about him. His eyes are underlined with thick bags and the frown that marrs
his once smiling lips is almost a permanent fixture.
"Hey," she returned, moving her gaze to the tips of her toes. She doesn't really want company
but if she has to have it, she's glad it's Xander. He understands her the most of all now.
He knows what it's like to lose the one you love.
He is carrying a bag which clinks as he walks closer to the porch. He stops a few feet away from
her and sets it on the ground. In his other hand, he is carrying a bouquet of brightly coloured
flowers. He says nothing. He doesn't need to. Buffy rises from her seat and, silently, they move
together towards the cemetary.
They shuffle quietly for ten minutes before Buffy has to ask, "What's in the bag?"
Xander shakes his head, the ghost of an old grin tugging at his mouth. Softly he says, "You'll
see when we get there."
Buffy nods and reaches inside the duster for her cigarettes. Everybody hates that she smokes.
She has heard everything there is to hear about lung cancer; about shortening her life. She does
not care. She has had enough of the world and everything in it. As she lights it, Xander says
nothing.
They stop first at Anya's grave and Buffy experiences a regular pang of jealousy because she has
one. Xander drops to his knees, emptying the vase of its old flowers and sliding the new
ones in. Buffy sits beside him and helps him clean out the grunge from her name with
Kleenex. She doesn't drop her butt near Anya, taking it instead to the bush. When she
returns, Xander looks up and says, "I loved her, you know."
Buffy's eyes flood immediately and all she can do is nod rapidly. Choking on the lump in her
throat, she murmurs, "I know. she knows."
Xander gives her a searching look and he adds meaningfully, "He knows."
They sit there for awhile and then he stands up, shouldering that mystery bag again. Taking
Buffy's hand, he pulls her in the direction of Spike's crypt. Her confusion grows as he sits down
by the side of it, pulling her with him.
She is about to ask him what he is doing, crouching behind Spike's old home, but is silenced
when he pulls from his bag a chisel and a pick. Awareness dawns on her and the love she feels
for Xander at the moment is overwhelming.
"Everybody should have something," he says, and then he begins to work.
She watches him chip away at the crypt's surface for awhile, carefully if not clumsily carving
out William "Spike". He stops at the last name and glances at Buffy. She already knows what
she wants it to say. she doesn't even need to think when she says, "Summers."
In death, she will give him herself. She can't think of another way to prove that her love
for him was real, if belated. Xander stares at her for awhile, understanding flooding his eyes.
He has not said an ill word about Spike since his death. Wordlessly, he begins to write her
own last name next to Spike's.
They have to discuss what else to write for a bit. William "Spike" Summers seems so sparse.
Xander wants to write "He gave it all for love" but that seems too corny for Buffy. In the end,
they choose, "He lived, he loved, and he's always been bad." Xander lets her use the pick
and she carves out a clumsy set of vampire fangs above his name.
Afterwards, she stares at it for awhile. She doesn't have the words to thank Xander but he
seems to get it. In one last gesture, he gets a flower from Anya's grave and allows Buffy to
lay it next to Spike's crypt. She is already planning how to make it pretty (but not too
pretty- she wants scarlet flowers, the colour of blood). What she does with it doesn't matter.
All that matters is that it's there. That she has somewhere to go and that forever, even
when she's gone, there will be a remembrance of Spike.
She smiles for the first time in what feels like forever as she leaves. With Xander
by her side, she heads home and off into the night, the sound of Spike's duster slapping
against her calves echoing off into the darkness in an eternal salute.