She was gone.
Tears streaked down Spike's face again as the image of his beloved Buffy falling hundreds of feet to her death resurfaced behind closed eyes. He wrapped the blanket around his broken body and sobbed into his borrowed pillow.
Upstairs he could hear movement; Buffy's friends going about their daily business, pretending she wasn't dead, living a lie where there was no mourning vampire in the Summers' basement.
Flying through the air, golden hair streaming behind her, never more beautiful, never -
They were yelling now. Something about the Buffybot. The whelp was pacing, his heavy footfalls echoing in the emptiness around Spike's heart. "We need someone to patrol!"
Quiet murmuring between the witches. Spike's eyes followed Xander's path on the ceiling. The front door opened and closed, Dawn's voice floated through the house.
The others stopped their argument, assumed crash positions, and went about pretending nothing was wrong. But it was all wrong.
Her body in a heaping, broken mess. He was too late. He'd failed. The only thing she'd ever asked of him, and he'd fai -
Spike's eyes stung again. His chest burned. He rolled over and buried his face in the sheets. Upstairs, the microwave was whirring. Dawn would be bringing him his dinner soon. He didn't want to eat, but Buffy's friends sent the Nibblet down with the blood 'cause they knew he couldn't say no to her.
Because he couldn't save her. Not when it counted.
Flying through the air, screaming Dawn's name, grasping at girders and scaffolding that was always just beyond his reach -
Falling so elegantly, so pure. She'd gotten her death wish, but what now?
He hoped Dawn wouldn't come. He wanted Red, or the whelp, someone he could lash out at, someone who would hate him. Spike wanted to be hated. Spike wanted to be hated by anyone but himself.
He would have died for her. But he fucked it all up.
They dragged him from Buffy's body, pleading with him. Dawn was crying for her, for him, for the impending sunrise. But he wouldn't leave 'til he knew for sure, 'til he felt her cold body.
It should have been him. And he would never forgive himself.