Nominated at Loves Last Glimpse Awards

A/N: This is the last of this little series of fanwanks. I'm not sure about the ending... But in a sense, it felt right. If you disagree or agree or whatever, hit me up with a review. How else will I learn?



“I have known you for quite some time,
And the thought of love never crossed my mind.
It seemed to be on the other side of the world…”

~Luther Vandross


The tears came rushing forth as unbidden thoughts entered her mind—her mom going to the hospital; her mom needing surgery; her mom getting worse…

She put her face in her hands, slowly dragging her fingers upward and through her hair in distress. She felt incredibly lost, and her fears were beginning to consume her. The sound of a gun cocking broke her from her thoughts. Though she was annoyed it was Spike, she was near elated for the distraction.

“What do you want now?” she asked in agitation, staring at Spike as he looked at her coldly before looking a bit confused.

He gripped the shot gun tightly and asked her, “What’s wrong?” Her overt pain, conversely, drove him to distraction. Buffy turned her head away from him at the question.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Spike tilted his head in thought, lowering his gun. His concern for her well being eclipsed his desire for revenge.

He hesitated for a moment, and then asked earnestly, “Is there something I can do?” Buffy slowly turned her head towards him again, though still not looking at him. Spike could tell by the expression on her face that she was deeply confused by the fact that it was he who was asking, or perhaps she was merely unsure of the answer. But she said nothing.

Spike, all the while keeping his eyes on her, sat down beside the Slayer on the stairs, laying the shot gun at his side. In an awkward tentativeness, he patted her on the back in an attempt to comfort her. She swallowed a bit, feeling her tears recede, and let him.

After a moment, Spike pulled his hand back, clasping it with the other in front of him as he sat next to the silent Slayer, both staring at the night sky and the smattering of stars that glistened in it.

“It’s… it’s my mom.” Spike’s head snapped up to look at her.

“Joyce? What’s wrong?”

“She um…” Buffy paused, wiping at her eyes. “She’s been having a few problems—fainting spells and… she’s going to stay overnight at the hospital.”

“Oh… But you don’t know anything for sure?” Buffy shook her head, sniffling slightly.

“Well, that’s kind of a good thing, isn’t it?”

“What?” Spike could see the anger start to build within her, and began to quickly explain.

“Hold on now, luv. I just meant that you’re getting yourself all worked up, and you’re not even sure what the problem is—if there’s even a problem to begin with. Your mum’s a strong lady. One of the toughest birds I’ve ever come across, in fact, and that’s saying something.”

“Spike, I just—”

“Just sayin’, don’t get panicked until you know for sure there’s something to be panicked about. And if there is a problem, at least you have a head start on it, yea?” Buffy exhaled, sadness still evident in her eyes, but she began to look a bit more at ease.

“I guess you’re right. Better to know now than…” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to keep her emotions in check.

“Come now, Slayer. You’ve gotta hold it together—at least around her. I’m sure she doesn’t want you to worry, and seein’ evidence of it won’t help matters. I’m not…not sayin’ that it’s wrong to cry. In fact it’s good; let it all out. Just try not to do it where Joyce can see it, yea?”

“Then when’s a good time?”

“You can now if you want. I won’t tell.” Buffy eyed him suspiciously.

“Why?” Spike sighed, tucking some of her mussed hair behind her ear.

“Cause, I know what it’s like. My mum was sickly. And bottling it up like that… it’ll lead to no place good. End up breaking down at a most inconvenient time, I’m sure. And what’ll Joyce do then if you get hurt?” he asked her softly.

“I don’t… I don’t want my mom to worry,” she confessed, her eyes watering again. “I just want everything to be alright.” She put her hand to her mouth as she began to cry again. She didn’t resist when Spike pulled her slightly shaking form towards him, wrapping his arm around him. He stroked her hair softly and remained silent as she cried it all out.

Buffy realized that it felt good to not be the strong one, at least, for a little while…

~~~~~

I can’t stop thinking about you… I love you…

I know that you’ll never love me. I know that I’m a monster. But you treat me like a man…

Buffy heard his words again in her head as she began to change her clothes for the final fight. Her mind’s eye flashed on his face, and his bruised and battered body after being tortured by Glory, and his genuine smile and laughter as her mom told him one of work stories. She thought about how he was going to risk his life tonight for her and Dawn, expecting nothing in return.

Buffy audibly exhaled, and made a decision…

~~~~~

“Spike!”

Spike put down the two battle axes he grabbed on top of the weapons chest.

“Slayer?” he called out to her, heading swiftly up the stairs.

“Everything alright?” he asked, approaching her room slowly, listening intently to her rapid heart beat. He pushed the slightly ajar door open all the way, and saw her standing in the middle of the darkened room, the light from the hallway illuminating her form. Her bare back was to him, and Spike could plainly see that all she had on was a pair of powder blue panties, holding a shirt up to her chest. He turned his head away from the stimulating sight, feeling beyond intrusive.

“Sorry luv. Thought you called me,” he apologized, heading back out of the door.

“I did.” Her soft voice stopped him. “Come in, Spike.” It was the second time she had said those words to him that night. Not the three words he had dreamed and fantasized her saying, but three meaningful words all the same.

He swallowed, and took two steps into her room, leaving the door open. She kept her back to him as she began to speak.

“When I said we all weren’t gonna make it, I meant me too. Before, with all of the other apocalypses, I was certain I would win—I knew it. But now, I… I’m not sure of anything, or what’s going to happen… We might lose, and tomorrow won’t be here.”

“Buffy, you can’t think that—”

“No, Spike. I’m not saying we’re going to lose, just that I’m not sure we’re going to win; that we’re all going to be here when it’s all over.” She turned towards him, still holding the shirt to her chest, and looked at him—really looked at him.

“I wish I had known what would happen to my mom; even if I couldn’t stop it. At least then, I could’ve been home with her, instead of going to some stupid party, or chasing some robot around town. I should’ve been there, instead of taking her for granted, thinking that she would always be here with me. I realize now that… I can’t just say ‘well, there’s always tomorrow.’ There’s no guarantee that time’s on our side. I have to live for today. I can’t brush things off or be fearful, or… I have to make use of all the time that I have.” Though her tone was soft, he could hear the determination in her words.

“What does that mean?” Spike asked, hope, awe, and a bit of fear coloring his voice.

“It means, I’ve seen you change. We don’t have a lot of time, but we might not have tomorrow, so…” she trailed off, keeping her gaze upon him, waiting for him to… something. Several second passed by, and she gripped the shirt a bit tighter to her before averting her eyes from his, feeling embarrassed.

“Well, okay then.” His voice was low, and seemed unsure, though he stepped closer to her. He raised his hand over her bare shoulder, stilling it, hovering, feeling her heat radiate off of her skin.

“You sure, Summers?” They simultaneously looked at each other. She slowly lowered the sweater, and then dropped it to the floor. Spike’s eyes widened, though he didn’t look down. He couldn’t look away from her hazel orbs, so full of tenderness for him. He found them more interesting then the round, pert globes on her chest.

She placed both of her hands on the sides of his face, pulling him closer to her. Though his lips were slightly parted, they somehow managed to keep their kiss innocent.

His lips were soft and full, and Buffy couldn’t help but think that she had missed those lips of Spike’s.

“I’m sure. We don’t have much time, but I want you. Make love to me, Spike.”

“Can’t insult the lady by denying her in her own home, can I?” And with that, he kissed her with abandon, his passion filtering through with every caress of his tongue upon hers, eventually making Buffy breathless and weak with desire.

Though their coupling was brief, it was languid and beyond thorough. Buffy wasn’t sure if she had ever felt so physically satiated in her life.

“Well, that was a helluva way to relieve some of that pre-apocalypse tension,” he drawled, rolling off of her. Buffy wasn’t sure what to make of his post coitus statement. Not that they had time to enjoy the after glow or anything, but…

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling her to him, kissing her briefly on the lips. He glanced at her from beneath his long, dark lashes. “Thank you for tonight. You have no idea how much… I meant it when I told you I loved you, Buffy.”

Buffy leaned over and kissed him, though she lingered a moment before pulling back.

“I know, Spike. I know,” she said earnestly, causing him to smile. She smiled back at him, caressed his face, and then got off of the bed, pulling on her clothes.

“Guess it’s time to go save the world, then?” he asked, getting up as well.

“Yup.”

“Slayer.” She stopped her movements, watching him intently.

“I promise you… you’re coming out of this alright, got it?” She nodded at him, her face suddenly grim.

Of course, Spike was wrong.

Buffy was able to hold Glory off, and yet, she didn’t make it to Dawn in the nick of time. Instead, she sacrificed herself for her sister, and the world.

Spike was consumed by grief, drowning in guilt and sorrow for one hundred forty-seven days. He didn’t think he would ever feel whole again…