~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


He was exhausted and his body ached all over, but at that same time, there was a feeling of exquisite pleasure from the proximity – and the tenderness – of the woman he loved. Buffy had helped him back to his crypt – his skin still felt like it was on fire from where she had looped an arm around his waist to help him – and onto the large sarcophagus where he now lay. He hadn’t dared to ask her to help him to his bed out of embarrassment but although the hard stone was not particularly soothing to his aching body, Buffy’s gentle touch was.

Despite his protest, she had insisted on staying and helping him clean up and, after helping him remove his coat, she had taken to cleaning the blood from his face and arms with a cool, wet cloth. He stayed as still as possible as she performed this duty, breathing in her scent and wondering when he had died and gone to heaven. He watched her as inconspicuously as he could, but he suspected by her slight blush that she was more than aware of his gaze. She placed the cloth down, not meeting his eyes, and moments later, gentle fingers pressed his ribs. He tried to suppress his gasp but to no avail and she met his eyes briefly.

“Is it bad?” she asked quietly.

“I’ll be fine, lo- Buffy. Really. You don’t need to –“

Before he could even finish his protest, she had picked up the bandage she had apparently liberated from the hospital and was regarding him as she bit her lip.

“We should bind your ribs.”

“You don’t –“

“I do,” she whispered, daring to meet his eyes once more, her expression filled with gratitude, “I really do.”



He swallowed hard and had to look away, unable to bear that softness from her. A softness he was convinced he did not deserve. She moved close then and he was forced to look up as she stopped just inches from him, hesitant hands going to his waistband. Not looking him in the eyes and her cheeks flushed with pink like a schoolgirl, she tugged at his T-shirt and then gently guided it over his head. The pain caused as he lifted his arms was quickly forgotten as he breathed in her scent once more, relishing the closeness he had been gifted with.

“I need to ask you something,” she spoke up softly after a moment, her gaze fixed on her hands as they wrapped the bandage around his chest.

“Yeah?”

She risked a glance at him and then returned her gaze to her hands.

“Drusilla. She… do you know where she is?”

It was only as she asked about his sire that it hit him: Drusilla was gone. He had killed his sire. He could feel the loss now, deep inside him, and it stilled him.

“Spike?”

He must have been silent for too long and he looked up quickly, meeting Buffy’s worried gaze.

“She’s dead,” he said quietly, the words reinforcing the truth of the fact in his heart.
Buffy’s shocked gaze searched his and he bore her scrutiny.

“I killed her,” he added.



There was the longest silence between them and he sank his gaze to the floor.

“Why?”

Buffy’s whisper – only just breaking the silence – reached him and he looked up with a start. He softened then and met her gaze straight on.

“She knew about Dawn,” he said simply, “I couldn’t let her go. Who knows who she might have told.”

“Spike… you…” she trailed off, apparently dumbfounded.

“And she hurt Dawn,” he added in a low voice, “Hurt you.”

There was another achingly long silence but he did not dare to look up, to see the disgust that was sure to be in Buffy’s expression. He started then as her soft hand suddenly touched his cheek and looked up in surprise. She was watching him with wide, watery eyes and he had to swallow hard.

“Thank you,” she said genuinely, her voice only just above a whisper, “I won’t forget what you’ve done. For Dawn… For me.”

He couldn’t say anything, could do nothing but swallow hard, fighting back his emotions. She looked as if she wanted to say more and hesitated for a moment, before she leant forward and he felt the briefest brush of her lips against his before she withdrew.

She met his shocked gaze for a moment but then looked away embarrassedly.

“I should get back to Dawn.”

His throat was too choked up to reply as he watched her fidget nervously before glancing at him. She bit her lip and her gaze fell to the floor.

“Do you need me to do anything?” she asked.

“No,” he managed to get out, “Thank you.”

She looked up and nodded quickly, her eyes darting nervously around her.

“So I should get going.”

“Yeah.”

She glanced at him once more, nodded, and then turned towards the door.



She paused on the doorstep and turned back to him.

“I… I think something big’s coming. With Glory, I mean.”

He remained silent, waiting for her to continue. She glanced at the door and then turned her attention back to him, meeting his gaze uncertainly.

“I’m going to need you in the fight,” she said softly and he sat up a little straighter.

“If you want to be there,” she added.

He hesitated only briefly and then answered her.

“I’ll be there. You can count on me.”

She paused for a moment and then smiled gently.

“I know.”

He could have sworn he felt his heart swell at her words and struggled to keep his façade of calm.

“I guess I should have known before,” Buffy continued in a quiet voice and when he met her eyes, he saw the self-reproach there.

“You had no reason to,” he murmured.

She gave him a half-smile and fixed her gaze on the door.

“I need you to look out for Dawn.”

“’Til the end of the world.”

She looked up, met his solemn gaze with her own and nodded.

“Whatever you need,” he continued, “I’m here.”

“I know… You… you’re a good man, Spike.”

Aside from a declaration of love, it was the sweetest thing he could ever have heard spoken by her lips and it stilled him. He had tried so hard to change for her, to be something like a man – and finally, he had the recognition he had so desperately sought. He felt the tears threatening and swallowed hard.

“I should go.”

She was ready to go this time and he called her name, halting her. She turned to him and his words stuck in his throat.

“Take care,” he got out, when nothing else would come.

She smiled wryly and with one last look, left him alone his crypt.

“I love you,” he whispered to the empty darkness, and lay back on the sarcophagus with a heady smile.

“A good man,” he breathed.

He closed his eyes and with a smile still on his face, let himself finally drift into the sleep his injured body so badly needed.



THE END


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A/N: I know, I took ages and then all you got was the end! Hope you enjoyed it though. To be honest, I originally had more planned for this but I seem to have lost inspiration so it seemed best to leave it nicely wrapped up. You never know, I might come back to it one day... Thanks for the continuing support.