Title: Crazy Faith

Author: Sarmi

Category: Post-BTVS Finale

Genres: Angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Spike but if I did I would hope that they would end up just like this.

Summary: When you love a slayer, you do what you have to do.

Authors note: The title of this story and lyric within is from the Allison Krauss song "Crazy Faith"

Chapter 4 Waking the Dead

Love is lightning, love is ice.
It only strikes the lucky twice.
Once so you will know the price.
And once for crazy faith.

Safe. Loved. Home. Complete.

Cool skin and knowing hands.

I love you's and tomorrows.

Beautiful dreams and bleak mornings.

But tomorrows never come. Not really. There is no tomorrow, only this moment without him.

You know when you're having a really great dream and you wake up right in the middle and even though you know it is not going to work you close your eyes tight and try fall back asleep just so you can see what happens next. That what every morning has been like since I lost him.

Lost him.

As if I misplaced him like a sock on laundry day. I know exactly where his is at. I know because I left him there. Alone.

But you never can fall back asleep. And for that first fraction of a second upon waking you forget that it was even a dream. Because it felt so real, he felt so real.

But it never is. And I lose him all over again. But this time he's the one that leaves me all alone.

And today is no different, except for one thing. Beside no tomorrows there were also no I love you's. I've never done that before. I always remember to say it in my dreams because I failed so many times before to tell him. I'll have to remember to tell him twice tonight.

I only give myself a moment every morning to feel the full ache of his absence even when I all I want to do is curl in a ball and cry till I don't have anything left. But I don't, I can't. He gave me the gift of normal and I owe it to him to live it. It the least I can do. It doesn't stop me from wishing I had a return receipt though.

And for that brief moment I try to allow myself to believe the pillow I have wrapped myself around is actually him. But I know its not. We may not have had many nights together but in that brief time I imprinted the feel of him on my very core. I'd say soul, but souls come and go and this definitely feels permanent.

But still I try because it's better than the alternative. And while I know that the pillow that I clutch is not him I can feel him behind me, his presence vigilant at my back, the weight of his hand sprawled possessively on my right hip, fingers feather light on my belly. This happens sometimes in those waking moments, the dreams haunting me even in the morning light. Those are the bad and the best days. Those few extra seconds of bliss only make getting out of bed all the more devastating.

So I take a few more moments to relish the feel of him, knowing I will pay for it later. And as I sink into his presence the hand on my hip tightens as if to draw me closer.

Stillness overwhelms me.

No. It's not possible. He's gone. Have I finally gone off the deep end?

"Buffy?"

And he sounds like heaven and home. And I have missed both so very much, but it's not possible.

"What's wrong, luv?"

He sounds so unsure and concerned.

I can barely breathe, let alone speak, all I can manage is a slight shake of my head. And as much as I can't believe it is really him, I can feel it, with that slayer part, the one that always knew when he was near, the metaphysical what's it that was always Spike's alone.

"Buffy, luv, you okay? You're starting to worry me, look at me, please."

And while the slayer part might be willing to believe he is real, the girl who spent months mourning him isn't ready yet. She has wanted this so much there was no way it can possibly be real.

"No." Somehow she has found my voice.

"No? Why?"

Why? Why he asks. Is he a completely dense? Actually that's a good indication me might actually be real. No, like I said, not possible. Wacko shack her I come.

"Because you're not real. You're just a dream."

"Okay, but remember you left me no choice," And before I can ask him what he means he slides his hand up my body and pinched my arm, that soft vulnerable part, underneath. Hard.

Automatically I sit up from my prone position to face him to demand what he thought he was doing. But before I could release my instinctive anger all I can see is his smiling face, and I knew he had to be real because not even dreams could replicate that smirk. The most annoying one in his arsenal of facial expressions, the one that always to manage to tell me just how silly he thinks I am being and how right he is.

Loves a funny thing.

You're not asking if I love this man.
I know you don't, you don't believe you can.
Yet I've seen the love open like a dancers fan.
It's crazy, I know, but my faith says so.