Wildflowers
By: Alida Hush
Buffy's POV: Several months after "Chosen"...
Sometimes you don't realize what you had until it's gone. It's like a sunset that you drive right past with the windows up because you take for granted the fact that there's going to be another one tomorrow.
Like wishing the worst on someone for something petty.
Like never saying 'Good-bye' when you hang up the phone.
The truth is, you never know what'll happen when you wake up in the morning and you never realize what's happened during the day when you go to sleep. It's a never-ending cycle that catches us all off guard.
I'll be the first to admit that I never saw this coming. I knew there would be casualties; knew there would be death. I just never thought it would Spike. Spike of all people. Somehow I imagined it would be me, or Faith: someone going out in a blaze of glory because it was their job.
In reality he didn't owe anyone anything. He thought he did, most of the time. He was wrapped up for a while in everything he'd done wrong that he couldn't see how much he was doing right. I think it was hard for him to see past his pride and realize that redemption doesn't come in the form of a downcast glance or a sheepish shuffle in the opposite direction.
I couldn't make him see that, no matter how much it was starring us both in the face. So, here I am at the raggedy edge looking down on the past becauseā¦because he deserves that much. He deserves to be remembered for the noble acts, not the ten thousand dishonest, brutal and tragic ones he committed in the pastā¦
"Buffy?" I turn around to see Dawn standing a few steps away. She cut her hair last week. It's a lot shorter than I was hoping, but it makes her look a little like Mom. A little older.
"Hey. I'll be right there." I say, trying to make her understand that this is something I have to do alone. She cocks her head, about to ask a question. But she must understand the look on my face because she just casually nods and heads back to the car.
The flowers in my hand are from the cemetery. They're really just weeds that I bundled together, but when I toss them over the edge of the raggedy hole that is now Sunnydale, I watch them float down in a shower of pale color and realize that they don't have to be perfectly pedaled roses for them to be exactly what I wanted to say to him.
For NanDibble, who taught me the values of fanfiction and the amazing depth that is Spike.
