The sky was a subdued shade of gray. It watched as Buffy Summers turned the corner into the cemetery as she'd done so many times before. The only way she knew that the sun hadn't set was the sickly and omnipresent glow of transfused sunlight that illuminates cloudy days, lending them an ethereal feel. And, of course, the lack of the walking undead was a close second place as far as clues went. It was hard to believe that such a peaceful place would be overrun by demons and fledgling vamps by sundown. The breeze picked up blonde strands of hair to whip Buffy's face frantically as if to call her attention to the looming storm, only to be brushed back by the Slayer's impatient hand. The weather in Sunnydale had been temperamental at best for the last week… strange for California, but nothing is too strange for a Hellmouth, thought Buffy with a wry smile devoid of any humor as she tromped through the cemetery. It was rare for her to visit graveyards before nightfall, as they always seemed… so dead during the daytime, she finished her own thought lamely, fully realizing the pathetic pun she had unintentionally concocted in her head. She shook her head in self-disgust. She honestly couldn't stand her own company these days. Since she had come back it seemed as though she were entirely uncomfortable in her own skin, as if simply living day to day was killing her- but not nearly fast enough- she thought bitterly. The body around her was like a heavy blanket wrapped tight around her; uncomfortable and binding her to a world that felt like a never-ending hell. The silence of being alone was maddening, but to be around her friends was suffocating in a way that was almost worse. They didn't understand, and Buffy could find no words to help them. How does one begin to describe the safety of Heaven, or the devastation of being pulled from its embrace? How does one describe the feeling of your own fingernails snapping and bleeding as you claw your way out of your own coffin, frantic as a trapped rat, scrabbling hopelessly at the wall of a sinking ship as the water presses closer inward… No. No, they couldn't possibly understand. Nobody ever could. Except him, a little voice whispered viciously in her head. And you chased him away, too… And then there she was, her breath stilled in her lungs, her whole body numb and cold, as she stood not five feet away from his empty crypt. For some reason, she thought that confronting the memories it held would be less painful or frightening during the day. Funny how wrong she'd been about so many things, especially concerning him. The look in his eyes from their last encounter still remained seared in her mind as if the night he left her shocked and crying on her bathroom floor had only been yesterday, when in truth it had been close to three months ago. Spike is a vampire, the enemy, she chanted mentally, trying to steel herself enough to enter the crypt he had called home and face her fears. The faster you forget about him, the better off you'll be.
She didn't move from her spot on the soft soil of the cemetery.
I thought that I could trust you…The gray overcast sky was the only one around to watch as Buffy Summers turned and ran from his crypt, her memories, and him, turning the corner and brushing the tears away as she walked home.