What Willow said kept ringing through her head. Say her goodbyes. Oh, God, how? How, when just looking at the closed wooden door, and knowing he was behind it, made her dizzy. So dizzy it almost made her sick to her stomach.

Buffy did not want to go through that door. Did not want her eyes to confirm what her heart already knew.

She resisted it at first. The pull. The pull he always had, ever since she’d seen him behind the Bronze. But eventually, she would give in. She always did.

She gave in to the horrible, wonderful, irresistible pull of her mate, even as her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Slowly, the door crept closer and closer. She tried to stop it. Tried to dig her heels in and stop her compulsive need to be at his side. Her mind and heart were screaming at her to stop.

Even as she found her hand lingering above the brass doorknob, the little girl in her was sobbing, don’t go in. Don’t go in. Stop. Stop. Stop!

But, a part of her didn’t want to stop because it knew what Willow said was true. If he was leaving, if he was truly dying, then she felt she needed to be by his side. She couldn’t leave him to face death alone. Not this time.

With a trembling hand, she opened the door. Just a crack, but it was enough. That sliver of space was enough to let it out. It hit her in the solar plexus, and it hit her hard. So hard that she staggered back a step. If she hadn’t been grasping the doorknob, she would have sank, like a stone, to the floor.

Being the Slayer, before there was a sea of Slayers that had gone to the edge of extinction and back, she knew that smell. It was the smell that weighed heavily in the air surrounding countless cemeteries. That smell became part of a Slayer’s life. It was in the air she breathed. It had been part of life. Inevitable. But not for him. Not this. Please, she silently begged as she held her breath to keep the invader out, not this. Not him. Please. Take anyone else. Anyone! Me! Please, you can’t have him. You mustn’t touch him. He wouldn’t let you in. He won’t!

Even as her heart screamed, her brain understood.

This was decay. This was death.

In the dim room, she could see her daughter hovering over the head of his bed. The light of her tears went straight to Buffy’s heart, “I think he’s asleep, Mom.” In this light, Jonina’s hawk-like features were more pronounced. That alone called an image to Buffy’s mind. An image of the one Joni called her father, before the virus had left nothing but a shell.

The way she carried herself spoke well of the pet name her father had for her. Jonina reminded her of a china doll, a china doll that was now on the verge of breaking because her world was slowly falling apart.

Buffy went to the bedside and put a hand on Joni’s shoulder. She felt a shudder of relief when Joni leaned into the touch, seeking comfort, “Honey,” she said softly, “why don’t you get some sleep?” Buffy could see that Joni did not want to leave, and she held her shoulder firmly, “For your Dad’s sake,” Buffy gave her daughter a sidelong glance, wincing in sympathy, “I know how you feel, Joni. But, do you really want to explain to him,” her head tilted toward the sleeping vampire, “when he wakes up why his ‘Best Girl’ is sick?” Buffy hissed at even the thought of his reaction, “’Cause I sure don’t. You’re not putting that one on me, Sweetie,” she smiled wryly, “ I’ve faced many an apocalypse but I don’t want to face that.”

Jonina nodded slightly, “You’re right Mom,” she placed a gentle kiss on the back of her Daddy’s hand, “Good night, Daddy. I love you,” she straightened, gave her mother a weary hug and quietly left the room.

Part of Spike had to be aware of what was happening around him, because as soon as the soft echo of the door latch died in the room, his eyes shot open. And, even though his voice barely registered above a whisper to her ears, his words were very clear, though his thoughts were not, “Love, please.”

“Yes Spike,” she leaned in close, hanging on his every word as if they were more precious than her own life. To her, at that moment they were, “What do you want?” She could feel her eyes swimming with tears, “Is there something you want?”

“Y-y-ess,” Buffy could see his chest rising in an effort to gain the air he needed for speech, if not for life, “Leave me…please. Take...” Buffy could see that his mouth was forming the words he meant to say but could not because the pain would not let him. Our girl. “Away.”

In that moment she knew what he was talking about. Knew where he thought he was. “No Spike,” she sobbed as her fingers quavered over his face as if to memorize it. Buffy completely ignored the blue lace-like mottling that covered his face. A mottling that would have been red if he’d have had circulating blood in his body. She didn’t see any of that. She only saw the face she once knew. The face she still loved, “I couldn’t leave you there. I just couldn’t!”

“Can!” he hissed, “Can,” the effort was sapping his strength. I believe “…In you.”

The fevered look of determination in his eye reminded her of that time. And that remembrance sent her body into painful full body sobs. Sobs that made it difficult to speak as she felt them take he over. But, she had to tell him she knew. So, she spoke, when all she really wanted to do, all she could do was curl up in a corner somewhere and die, “I know Spike,” she wailed, “I know you do. And, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

As she watched the last of his strength leave him, as his eyes drifted closed, Buffy bowed her head and cursed herself for not believing in herself they way that he had. The way he did, and always would. She cursed herself for not being able to survive without him.

If she had been able to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe the Slayers wouldn’t have been on the endangered species list. Maybe they all wouldn’t be here, like this, now.

Maybe.
*************************************************

Brown eyes met steel-grey in an eternal stand off. Which would blink first? Well, that Holland already knew. He grinned maliciously as the brown eyes faltered and looked away, “Too much for you?” he asked, in what seemed to be genuine concern, “It can be a bit overwhelming at times. I know.”

“What do you know about it?” Angel moaned.

Hurt flashed in his cold eyes, “I know plenty,” he said, as he leaned against the tombstone that haunted Angel, “Why are you here?” It was a pointed question.

Angel laughed. There was no humor in it, “I’m here because Spike finally did me, and the world, a favor and killed me.”

Holland crossed his arms, “Well, there is that,” he conceded, “But why are you,” he pointed at the tombstone in front of Angel and at the sod beneath their feet, “here? Why that stone? Care to read the name aloud?”

Angel felt his throat tighten, “I’d rather not.”

Holland nodded, “I know. Can’t always get what we want, as Mick once said. Read it.”

“William Alistair Dustin. Gone, but not forgotten. December 2, 2027.”

Holland stepped away from the stone and took his place beside Angel to ponder it, “It was a nice stone she gave him wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Angel nodded in agreement, “she…how did you know?”

Holland sighed, “Because, we’ve done this before, you and I. Everyone chooses their own private Hell. And, for some reason you’ve chosen this.”

“Then why are you here?”

Holland threw his head back in laughter, “You see, that’s the funny part of this job. I’m here,” suddenly the little baby appeared on his shoulder again, seemingly unharmed and cooing happily in his care, “to make sure that this little Dove fulfils the plan that’s been laid out for her,” Holland began patting the child’s back, in slow gentle rhythm, “In order to do that, ‘Daddy’ must follow. And now,” he beamed down into the girl’s face, “he will.”

As the light of understanding dawned on him, Angel hid his face in his hands and sunk, once again, to his knees, “Oh no. It wasn’t the baby you wanted at all, was it?” Angel’s eyes bore into Holland heatedly, “It was Spike you wanted all along. Am I right?”

“You were always the quick learner, Angelus. That’s why we like you.”

Angel felt something cold rise up within him and fill him, “I’ll stop you.”

“And how would you do that?” Holland asked, looking around at the vast grey that surrounded them, “Even if you could somehow get out of here, and warn them, who’d believe you? Buffy certainly wouldn’t. Not after what you pulled,” Holland’s eyes gleamed with a perverse pleasure as he stared back at Angel, “As I recall, someone told you you’d get eaten, didn’t they? You’ve been swallowed. And you didn’t even notice. Too busy fighting the battle to see the bigger picture. How are you at history, Angelus? Have you ever heard of a little thing called a ‘Trojan Horse’?”
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