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Part Two: Too Much


Spike was doubting his early decision to pass along the bit of information he had been given. When he had told her of the party it had been to reassure her that they were safe and happy, she hadn't been eating and he had hoped to cheer her up. It had seemed to work initially, she smiled more, spent less time in front of those bloody photos dwelling on the past, even wanted to go out for a bit. So he never dreamed of balking when she requested this one simple favor of him, it was her present she had said, she would stand guard, protect them from any nasties trying to lurk. He had merely insisted on coming with her, it was more for the company; he knew all too well that she was impervious to any harm. Or impervious to any physical harm, her spirit was a whole other matter. And that was what concerned him.

She faded in and out of the shadows, never too direct, always blurred, always hidden amongst the darkness. Spike had once longed to capture her heart, for he could already read her mind, a perfect novel lay out in front of him but now it had been put under lock and key. Her thoughts, dreams, fears, hidden away from his once knowing eyes, tucked away in the shadows. He had her. That should have been enough. But he couldn’t help but feeling she was like sand through his fingers, the tighter he tried to hold on to her, the faster she slipped away.

He did what he could, took her to movies she might like, brought home her favorite foods, kept her busy, and told her frequently how blessed he was to have her, how he loved her. Buffy never could see all the little ways he took care of her, how he would pick a fight just to get her feeling something, anything, for her eyes never did mature. He was given little rewards, crumbs from her table, lovemaking, small smiles, a twinkle in her eye, and perhaps even the occasional dream shared with him, of places she wanted to go, things she wanted to try. He lived for those moments and had traded her a gift of information in return. But that didn’t mean it was for the best.

He tightened his grip, pulling her closer to his side, as they stood in the darkness across from a small pizza parlor with a large window, a moving portrait displaying the lives inside its warmth. She leaned her head back on his strong chest, her grip tightening on his hand. She could do this. She would do this. She could still be part of it, if only unnoticed. With a downward glance at his love, his eyes filled with worry she was blinded to, he squeezed her, swaying slightly side to side, as if she were a babe to be rocked. He didn’t have a passport to her world anymore, he could no longer decipher what was behind those hazel eyes but he knew, at least for that moment, that she was wondering what it would have been like to be among them.

They stood, and sat, giggled, and joked, her friends, her family. She was only ten feet from them but it didn’t matter, there might have well been an ocean between them for all that she was a part of their world. They weren’t the same as they had been, but their smiles still glowed, Xander was still joking though he now carried a bit of weight and streaks of gray framed his temples. Willow was no longer a redhead; instead opting for a soft chestnut brown, laugh lines drawn around her mouth. And Dawn… Buffy inhaled sharply when she caught the first sight of her sister, her husband carrying a girl of barely eight upside down, causing her to laugh until her tiny cheeks flushed pink, Buffy’s niece, Kyna. Kyna had grown in leaps and bounds since she had seen her last, on her second birthday in central park. But Dawn, she looked the same, older to be sure, but same straight brown hair, same blue eyes, her skin kept youthful at high expense to her husband.

Fate would laugh then if she could. Dawn would have given up everything to stay young forever, to keep her body toned, and skin smooth. She had a doctor she implored to do just that, thinking that wrinkles were horrid things, which she would never allow to mar her face. Even at 35 she already felt past her prime and wished she could halt the hands of time. And her sister had the hands of time halted, her skin would never wrinkle, her body never change, and she looked enviously on Willow’s laugh lines, and Xander’s graying hair. For even in Buffy’s limited perception she could see they showed a life well lived. She had known in her heart of hearts very early in her calling that she would never achieve those priceless badges of life, slayers were noted by their short lives, now she would live forever, past the end of the world, and they still eluded her. Yes, fate would definitely laugh.

“Come on, luv.” Spike finally spoke, as a fat tear rolled down her creamy cheek. “Let’s go fight us some monsters.” And with a nod, they went off in the darkness, to do their small part in making Kyna's birthday a happy one.

Pulling her jacket tighter around her slender form, Buffy thought of the one who wasn’t there who should be. The man who had taught her to stand on her own feet, showed her the paths she wanted to travel on and those that she wished to avoid, and in the end it was his death that cast a light on her immortal state.

Cancer. It had been cancer, not something fitting for a man that fought the forces of darkness, not a hero’s death. Just cancer. Red-hot anger flooded through Buffy whenever she thought of it. Giles was a hero, he had been her hero, yet in the end had became a statistic. The first diagnosis had been almost two years after the battle with The First, changed the world and devoured her home. But Giles was a fighter; it had taken five years till it finally won. In the end he was tired, skin sallow, body limp. Buffy had haunted the hospital, and it was he, who in his quiet Giles way, commented that she looked the same as she did that day they had said goodbye to Sunnydale forever. That she hadn’t changed a bit.

Buffy at the time, smiled softly and held his hand telling him to rest. It was only once the funeral was over and she was back in the familiar states that she began to really look around her. Physically everyone seemed the same, Dawn was still getting taller, but there was something indistinct, an invisible line that separated her from them. They might not have been changing physically, but emotionally they were going through different seasons, and Buffy? She still saw the world the same way she did at 22 as she did at 29. And that didn’t settle well.

Angel had helped her track down some powerful something or other to look into it for her. And faced with the bare facts, she walked out of their lives forever. They would never understand if she had told them, they wouldn’t see, she had too much time.


TBC





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