A/N I think the background to this epilogue needs some explaining. I guess I've turned slightly AU, I'm sorry, but the endings of Seasons 5, 6 and 7 never happened. Sunnydale is left standing, and Spike never attacked Buffy, and Buffy never died! They lived their lives so far (or in Spike's case, unlife) happily, and with each other. Please note I am not a medical genius, and the details of this chapter may not be correct. I guess this chapters kind of bittersweet, but I would appreciate if my reviews were flame-free.

This is for all my reviewers, and for the creators of the Buffyverse. Not that I think they'll be reading.

Alas, this is the end of Love Bytes. But do not fear, this is not the end of Moondancing Millie. Those of you who liked this fic might like to read my new Spuffy fic (please)? Its set in WW2, with Buffy as a young sixteen year old thrown together with her next-door-neighbour William by the tradegies of war, and love ensues...

SUMMARY: After two failed relationships, Tara and Willow sign a relunctant Buffy up to an online dating service. But what Buffy refuses to accept as a perfect match, may turn out to prove that this Slayer will never be able to escape a certain blonde vampire...

Elizabeth Summers - the woman formerly known as Buffy - stood at her upstairs window, twitching in anticipation. It was an event that had occured nearly daily since she had fallen in love with the man who was meant to be calling any minute.

She given everything up for him. Even her job - the occupation that had brought her to him in the first place - she had given up. The Slayer line had carried on through Faith, who had perished tragically in a motorbike accident, and Buffy was no longer needed. She could live her life happily as an elder woman whilst the youngsters fought the evil. Naturally, of course, she had to join in sometimes.

The doorbell rang, and Elizabeth scurried - as fast as her bowed legs could carry her, anyhow - down the stairs and to the front door, which she opened hurriedly. Her heart swelled at the sight that met her.

"Spike," she gushed, and her love swept upon her to lay a gentle kiss on her aging lips. "I thought you'd never get here! It turned dark almost an hour ago."

"Well I had to get something for my lady," argued Spike, and he produced a rather large bouquet of roses from behind his back and presented her with them. "Only the best for you, pet."

Elizabeth took the flowers from him and into the kitchen, where she began tending to them whilst Spike found a vase. He knew his way around her kitchen quite well now - it had been sixty years since they had become a couple, though you wouldn't have known it by looking at the vampire. He still looked as fresh and ageless (well, as fresh and ageless as the undead could look) as he had appeared back in the Buffy days.

"Oak-matured mead, m'lady?" he asked, rummaging around in the liquor cabinet hungrily.

"Top shelf, to the left," Elizabeth replied, pruning her flowers and putting them into the water-filled vase one by one. "We've come a long way from light beer from a bottle, haven't we?"

"You bet, pet," he said, uncorking the bottle and pouring the golden liquid into two glasses, and raised his own. "To us," he said. "To you at eighty-one, and to me at... how old am I again?"

"I forget," said Elizabeth, distractedly, as she finished her flowers and set the vase up on the windowsill. Spike looked slightly deterred.

"Well," he said, handing Elizabeth her glass. "To me and you."

"Here, here," she added, and together they drained their glasses. Grabbing the bottle, Spike followed her into the lounge, where they collapsed onto the sofa to talk.

"This is how every day should end," remarked Buffy, with a wave of her beer bottle, and a slurp that echoed off the walls of the crypt. "Don't you think, Spike?"

"Definitely, pet," he answered, and he swigged his own beer. They had returned to his crypt once it had been dark enough to leave the Magic Box, holding hands the whole way home. In honour of their relationship, Willow had offered to Dawn-sit, as she referred to it now, as Dawn had screamed ferociously at the last person to mention "babysitting". Buffy was free to spend the night, which was her plan exactly.

"You know," she replied, thoughtfully sucking the lip of her bottle. "I thought you were going to pull some noble-vampire crap on me earlier."

Spike scoffed. "I'm not Angel!" he cried, and accidently dropped his bottle in his lap, the froth erupting all over his pants before he could do anything. "Oh, bloody hell. Besides, I made the right decision in the end, didn't I? I could have said I don't care what you think now, you'll want to do this-"

His rambling speech - which was mostly to himself, anyway - was cut off abruptly by Buffy, who had leant over to fix her lips to his. Spike's protests were drowned almost immediately,, and his eyes were still closed when Buffy pulled away and whispered in his ear. "I think we'd better get these pants off."

That woke Spike up. "What?" he spluttered, hardly believing what he heard. Buffy rolled her eyes.

"They're soaked!" she replied, and Spike groaned, realising Buffy's true reason behind her exclamation. And just when he thought he was going to get lucky...

Spike stood up and began unzipping his trousers. "Um," he said, stopping suddenly. "Do you want to turn away, or something?"

"Why?" asked Buffy, enjoying Spike's facial expression. "You're wearing underwear, aren't you?" Spike was grateful that he couldn't blush at this particular moment in time.

"Yeah..." he said, and Buffy turned around. "Geez," she muttered. "I didn't realise you were so modest..."

"I'm going to find some more trousers!" he called, and Buffy heard his footsteps die away as he made his way downstairs to his "bedroom". It was a while before he returned, and Buffy had used the time to seek more alcohol, and was helping herself when Spike reappeared, this time wearing the Hawaiian shorts he had used last year. With a snort, Buffy slopped most of her new drink down her T-shirt.

"Oh, man!" she moaned, and she reached for the bottom of her T-shirt, but froze, mid-undress.

"I don't have anything for you to change into," said Spike, answering her unspoken question, and Buffy rolled her T-shirt back down.

"Looks like its fate," she replied, whilst she tried to mop up some of the spillage with her jacket. "Somebody wants us to take our clothes off."

"Well, I guess it would be unwise to challenge fate..." began Spike, and Buffy grinned.

"I agree," she answered, and she and Spike exchanged simultaenous mischievous glances.

"Race you there," he challenged, and together the couple ran to the wooden stairs down to the sub-level and descended, wrapped up in a passionate embrace. And, well, the rest I'll leave up to your imagination.

Sixty years later, the pair sat demurely on the sofa, barely paying attention to the show on TV, and sat exchanging news of their daytime activities, hands entwined. Their physical relationship with each other had perished gracefully, but their love for one another wouldn't - couldn't - die.

"Let's watch the stars," suggested Spike, and he supported Elizabeth out of the door, and onto the porch. He helped her down onto the wooden bench, and then sat himself there, fingers still linked, and her heart still hammering at his touch.

"I love you, Spike," she whispered, softly, barely audible over the sirens from the busy night on the main road. Spike put his face in her grey head.

"I love you too, Buffy," he replied, and her ears rang with the use of her old name, before the pair fell asleep in their romantic clinch.

The following morning was Friday, the day Dawn came for a coffee morning. Elizabeth's sister was becoming as elderly as her, though slightly more slender and agile - which was ironic, as she had not been the Slayer.

Dawn noticed her sister slumped on the wooden bench in the porch, hands laid in her lap, and head resting against the wall, as she had approached the house. It was wiser to walk, as fuels for her car were getting expensive.

"Oh, Buffy!" she cried, hobbling up the steps. "Did you sleep out here all night under the stars?" She got nearer to her sister and saw her cheeks had paled slightly, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her frame was stiff and her skin was cold as Dawn took a hand as she sat at her side. "Buffy?" She squeezed the fingers, tight. "Elizabeth, wake up!"

Dawn's middle fingers felt for a pulse, and she was met with nothing. She rummaged around in her purse for a key, and let herself into the house, running straight for the telephone and dialling 911.

"Yes, hello?" Dawn's voice was shaking as she spoke into the receiver. "I need an ambulance. I found my sister on her porch, and there's no pulse!" She tried to keep her voice, steady, but failed. "1630, Revello Drive. Thankyou."

Dawn rushed back out to her sister, and sat, heart thumping madly, waiting for the paramedics to arrive, though her hope was fading fast. Buffy looked so calm, so peaceful... it was likely she had already passed. She had no idea how long she had been without a heartbeat, it could have been as long ago as yesterday afternoon, as Dawn had called that morning to confirm the coffee morning. Dawn rocked back and forth, squeezing Buffy's hand. The two were meant to be drinking coffee right now, and not awaiting her medical state.

Finally, the white and red vehicle pulled up outside the house, and two young paramedics leapt out of the car, one rushing to the back to seize equipment, one heading straight for Dawn and Buffy's body.

"No pulse?" he checked with Dawn, who shook her head, and he felt for a pulse to various places, as well as checked for the possibility of a rising chest before moving the body horizontally to perform CPR. He spoke into his walkie talkie before continuing.

After no success, his partner helped him lift her onto a stretcher before turning to Dawn. "We're going to take her into the emergency room," he told her, and patting her shoulder comfortingly. "And we can give you something for the shock there." Dawn nodded, and followed the paramedics down the path, before turning to have one last look at the bench. There was something there she hadn't noticed before.

It was a pile of grey dust, that Dawn must have passed as she had made her way to Buffy's other side only half an hour ago. The ash was covering the space where somebody else would have sat next to Buffy. And then Dawn realised, with a sad pang to her heart. Her sister was dead, she knew it. She had died along with the man she loved.

Spike.