She just sat, there staring at the ground in front of her, toying with the grass beside the empty soil that hadn't the chance to grow anything since the burial. Her shoulder brushed along the hedge stone, cold and gray beside her, with her name carved tauntingly into it. But she didn't dare look at it. No, looking at it would only make it harder. More difficult to understand, and just that much more terrifying to believe. It broke Spike's heart to see the slayer like this. Well, not really the slayer any more. And how would that go over? Everything she'd ever know, all she was taught to believe had been thrown back in her face all at once. And who was she to turn to? There was no one. She hadn't returned to her poor distraught mother who didn't know about Vampires at all. And she most definitely hadn't returned to her friends. They'd never understand, never accept her like this. She knew that. Things would have to be different now. Buffy had Angel though; a man – Vampire – who loved her, and wanted nothing more than to help her.
Spike was there for her, even if she didn't want him to be. Even if he didn't want to be. He didn't have a choice. Seeing the pain in her eyes anguished him as if he still had his soul. There as just something about the way she looked at him when he and Angel had found her, the way she seemed to know what he saw in her. Not a demon, but a lost little girl who just wanted to be held, and helped, and to exist. Angel saw his girl, who could be with him forever now that she'd changed. But that isn't what she'd ever wanted. She wanted to be human, stay human forever. Her job was her reason for existing, and that job was to slay the being that she now was. It couldn't go over well with her now dead heart.
And most of all Spike knew the way it felt. He had first hand experience with crawling out of his own grave, and he knew that that is what Buffy had done.
"Buffy," he called out to her softly, and her head shot up as if she hadn't known he was there. She looked almost frightened, but he couldn't understand why. He smiled sadly at her. "Come on then pet, let's get you fixed up." He put out his hand to her, which she hesitated to take. If he was going to kill her, what difference would it make? Nothing could be worse than this undead life ahead of her.
He led her slowly through the cemetery to his crypt, and quietly opened the door for her, and held it open as she passed through. She stopped a few paces in front of him, and turned her head slightly towards him, back still turned. Sighing, he put his hand on her lower back and guided her towards the couch. She sat automatically and looked up at him. Tears seemed to be stirring in Buffy's eyes, and this made Spike feel even more distressed.
"Have you fed yet?" He asked trying to sound casual. She shook her head which he almost didn't see. This was going to be difficult, getting blood into an undead slayer. But he had to try, she couldn't live – exist – without it. Pouring some of the thick red liquid into a mug, he gently put it into her hands.
Buffy stared at the alien looking thing in her hands before turning her attention back to Spike. "You're not going to kill me?" She whispered. He just smiled slightly down to her and didn't answer. He didn't know. He knew he should kill her; after all, they were sworn enemies. But he couldn't. Not now that he'd seen her at her worst, she was just like him now. Well, except for some features. But basically the same. "Why are you helping me?" She said just as quietly.
"I can't tell you that pet, can't explain." He didn't look away from her for a second. Even in her filthy, dead, tear stained form, she was still quite a site. Her tangled dirty hair framed her face just perfectly, and her pretty white gown that was now covered in a thick layer of mud and was torn in almost every way possible, still complimented her perfectly.
"I wish you'd try." She looked at the blood again. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Spike seemed to understand this, and so sat down beside her at lifted her hand gently with his, moving the mug closer to her mouth. Her lip trembled and a shaken breath came out of it, but she let the chilled fluid pass her lips. She gagged on it a little, and the mug slipped out of her hand, Spike was ready though and caught it just inches from where her hand had been holding it. No blood had been spared.
"It'll get easier." He said brushing her hair out of her face. She her eyes bore into his, and for the first time he realized that he could never see the true extent of her pain. He would never know just how much was lying beneath the surface, trying to break free. It was probably too much for her tiny body. How she'd not exploded as of yet was a mystery.
"Spike," She whispered closing her eyes when tears began to escape. She pressed her lips together into a thin line and let him pull her against him.
He shushed and cooed her gently, rubbing her arm. He took the mug from her hands and set it down beside him. He'd try again later.
"Listen," He started. "I know what it's like, losing everything. Climbing out of your grave and being alone, not knowing what world you're in. And I know you're in way over your head." She held her breath now, letting his words play around in her head. "But it isn't as bad as you think."
She pulled away from him abruptly, distrust and disgusted filling her every detail. "You'll never understand." Her voice trembled.
Spike put up his hands in surrender, and stepped back his speech of encouragement a bit. "'S not what I meant Buffy." He looked at her seriously for a second until she relaxed. "I meant that your family is still there for you. Your mother will greet you back with open arms, and you're friends will be there until the end." She squeezed her eyes shut and begged him to stop talking. He was killing her. Not with a stake, but by playing every horrible emotion that she'd been feeling just right.
"Don't," She pleaded desperately. "You know I can't." Buffy didn't open her eyes.
Sighing in frustration with himself, he hesitantly put his arm on her shoulder farthest from him, and carefully pulled her back to him. She accepted the gesture, and briefly wondered when his warmness would end and when he would kill her. He sat on edge, muscles tensed, and near the edge of his seat. He wasn't sure what he was dealing with. Either a new fledgling in need of a master vamp's comfort, or a much shaken slayer who still wanted to rip his head off. But she seemed content enough. They sat like that for a while. Just feeling each other. He found that he might need her just as much as she seemed to need him. Still lost without Drusilla, Spike found her touch comforting.