Shock
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just make 'em cry.
Summary: The events of 'The Body' as they fit in the AU of 'Her Last One'.
Reviews: Yes please. Love reviews, adore reviewers. Readers Rock but Reviewers RULE!
A/N: This fic is sad but I promise not to leave y'all in the depths of depression.
Rebel Goddess thinks I'm mean. I'd sniffle if it weren't so very true. You say the sweetest things.
WayWard Childe: Your input into this story is brilliant. Thanks, Luv.
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Hours later…
Buffy sat in the waiting area in shock. She still couldn't believe it. Her mother was gone. Dawn was recovering in the corner from her experience with the vampire in the morgue. Giles returned from dealing with some of the enormous stack of paperwork that seemed to be generated by the events of the day.
"Buffy? We can go now." She looked up as Giles spoke.
Willow stood next to him. "We want Dawnie to come with us." She whispered. "It might be easier if…" She trailed off and waved her hand vaguely.
Buffy nodded. "I have to…" She didn't finish the sentence because she wasn't very certain just what it was she needed to do.
Giles cleared his throat and glanced around the waiting area with a slight frown. Someone was missing. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach when he realized who it was. "Buffy? Has anyone told Spike?"
Panic crossed the Slayer's pretty face. "No. Oh, God no. He's gonna come over. They had a date last night. He sent her flowers. I – I found the card on the floor. I think I l-left it there."
"Buffy, we need to get to your house." Giles extended his hand to help her up. They left as fast as humanly possible, hoping to catch the vampire before he discovered for himself the woman he loved was gone.
Hours earlier, Summers house…
The house was still and silent, oddly so. There was a vibe about the place that set his senses on edge. Spike walked up the sidewalk curiously. There didn't seem to be anyone home, unusual for a weekday evening. The Bit should have been in her room doing homework while her mother washed the dinner dishes. The Slayer would be out patrolling, keeping the population safe from demons and the like. The front door was unlocked and swung open at his knock. A frown marred his handsome face.
"Joyce?" He called. "Luv, are you here?" Something was wrong, very wrong. The house seemed different, colder. He noticed his roses on the table and smiled; happy they'd arrived in good shape. Sometimes florists didn't deliver exactly what you ordered. His smile faded as fast at it had appeared. "Hello?" He called out again.
He shifted into game-face to take advantage of heightened senses. There was a different odor about the place, familiar and unsettling. Denial delayed the identification of the scent. Fear shot through his unbeating heart. "Joyce!" He yelled. He followed his nose to the living room, dark and foreboding. He fumbled with the lamp on the side table, seeking the switch with unsteady fingers. The mess in the room stunned him; the coffee table was shoved haphazardly away from its usual position. The card he'd labored over was lying forgotten about a foot away from the sofa. The smell of death was very strong, intermingled with Joyce's unique scent. He began to shake. "No." He moaned, sinking to the floor.
He doubled over until his forehead rested on the carpet. His arms were wrapped around his midsection. The chill of shock settled into his body. Painfully, he got up and staggered over to the stairs. He climbed them, feeling as if each one was a sheer rocky cliff face. He grasped the handrail desperately as he ascended. Panting needlessly from the exertion, he used the walls of the hall to make his way to Joyce's room.
He closed the door, locked it and leaned against it wearily, his head bowed. His face was dry and stoic. His deep sapphire eyes were dull and empty. He pushed away from the door and stumbled to the window, pulling the drapes open. He knew what direction that window faced and failed to care. He had no reason to. With what felt like the last of his strength, he forced himself to walk over to the bed. Unable to consider climbing onto it, he sank to the floor in front of the hope chest located at the foot of the queen-sized expanse that was saturated with her unique scent. If this was a nightmare then the open drapes would mean nothing, he'd wake up in his crypt and hurry over to make sure his lady was all right. If this wasn't a nightmare… he didn't want to think about that possibility. He wrapped his arms around his legs and… waited.
TBC