Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey guys! This is something I had written a long time ago and I wished to share it with you. i promise to update Light in the Dark very very soon, I just need to fix somethings then I can post it here. Anyway as always reviews are greatly appreciated =)
I’ll be Waiting

Spike was walking back to his crypt; he had just finished fighting some vamps and demons with the Scoobies. As he walked past every tombstone he remembered that it had been a year, exactly a year since that horrible night, the night when Buffy jumped into that portal. He had cried his heart out for days; he couldn’t get over the guilt that he had placed upon himself. Ifs were flooding through his mind, if he would have moved faster, if he had fought harder maybe Buffy would still be here.

He remembered the day of the funeral; his nibblet had come over the night before, letting him know that Buffy would be placed under ground the next morning. It was evident in her eyes that she had been crying, probably locked herself in her room shedding tears. He did not talked to her, she probably thought he was not paying attention but he was. Listening to every word she was trying to utter, fighting the tears back. She told him that he should not blame himself for what happened, nobody should. But for him, blaming himself was easier than facing the truth that his love was now gone. The only person that treated him like man. He remembered the things she said to him, earlier that night, at her home. She had invited him in, gave him permission to be part of her life again, only that night her life ended.

They probably thought he did not visit, but he did. The night of the funeral, he went to her grave, said his last goodbye. Telling her how sorry he was for not being able to take care of the little bit like he had promised. He told her that wherever she is now, she should not worry about her friends. He may have let her down but not again.

Since that night, he decided it was time to pick himself up, he needed to live his undead life, for her. He started to visit the nibblet almost everyday, staying with her at home while the others were away patrolling. Until the new slayer came to town, apparently the other one in LA died, he did not know how and he did not care to ask. The new slayer had blonde hair, much like hers. She was taller and was less cocky when it came to battles but nevertheless whenever he sees her it always reminds him of Buffy. At first he started to not attend the Scooby meetings because it pains him to see the new slayer, but the watcher had come over one night and told him that he was needed to train her. At first he did not want to but he remembered his promise to her by her tomb, that he would protect everyone she loved, even if it did include somebody his slayer never have met. She would have wanted him to help her cause he knows she sure would, so he agreed. Every night he would go on patrols with her and every night she was becoming more and more like his slayer, strong and determined. But he knew no one could compete with Buffy, they would not even come close to how powerful she had been, but had been was right, no matter how much he tries to forget she’s now gone.

He then walked across familiar grounds; he took every step with caution as he reached her grave. It was beautifully decorated, at the center was a vase full of red roses, Dawn knew his slayer always loved the smell of them. Three white pearls surrounded it, from the whelp and the ex-demon. That girl always had a thing for jewelry. Amethyst crystals lined the tomb, probably from the witches he thought. And lastly two white candles completed the solemnity of the place, the watcher always thought that candles were a symbolism of peace. What else could he possibly offer her on this very day of her death, everything was lined up beautifully for her by her friends. As he sat there, staring into the flames, he started to scribble something down on a piece of paper he had on his pocket.

Satisfied by what he had written, he closed his eyes and breathed in deep, letting go of the piece of paper letting it burn against the fire. Each word and phrase sent into ashes as a message for his slayer:

In this night I come to you,
In my heart I hold you true.
Sweetest kiss you’ve given,
Was now wasted and forever forsaken.

The day you went away,
The day you left me astray.
I cried the whole night through,
Just wanting to be with you.

I learned to let you go,
Just like you told me so.
But I’ll never be free,
Because of the love you thought me.

Whether it be in heaven or hell you’ll go,
Believe in your heart that I will follow.
All I need is for you to wait for me by the gates,
And to fulfill what is our fate.

After the paper was dust, he looked back, as if asking for a respond, but none came. He started to walk away, sadness and despair written all over his features. He wondered if Buffy had heard his prayer wondered if she even cared to listen. As he walked slowly toward his crypt a sudden cold wind went by. It was weird, he was a vampire, and vampires were not suppose to feel the difference in temperature, yet he did.

“I’ll be waiting…” the wind softly blew.

“Buffy?”

The End.





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