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Author's Chapter Notes:
For those of you reading Grifters- sorry I haven't updated, I've been busy with my A-Levels! I promise to update as soon as they're done. I've been sitting on this
for a while, and had already got four chappies written. Be nice to know what you think!

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Disclaimer: Ain't mine, don't sue.
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It was eleven o’clock the following morning by the time Buffy was able to finally go to bed. She had spent the past seven hours in a hospital waiting room, waiting for news about Rona, who had taken a blade to the stomach during the fight. Giles spent five of those seven trying to convince Buffy to go and get some rest, and buying her coffee. Faith was still with Robin, who had slipped into a coma for a few hours, but thankfully regained consciousness a little over two hours ago, much to Faith’s relief. Dawn had wanted Buffy’s knife wound looked at, but by the time the school bus had reached Los Angeles it was more or less healed, although it would scar. She had, however, had her burnt hand looked at, although that was mostly healed too. But it was still stinging.

She had called Angel, and gave him the bare bones of what had happened in Sunnydale, her voice void of any emotion. Dawn, however, had broken down into tears when Buffy had mentioned Spike. Angel had let her have use of his hotel, which was empty since the Fang Gang had relocated to Wolfram and Hart. When Buffy had been informed about the change, she had told him that he was being ridiculous, and under no certain terms did she agree or approve of his choice. Angel had talked about working from the inside, but Buffy had just stated that it was his choice, but she thought he was making a mistake. More than a little agitated at this point, he had told her how to find the hotel, and what the code to the door was. She had thanked him for his help, before hanging up and relaying the information to Giles. Buffy had spent most of the two hour drive to Los Angeles running around tending to the injured, and talking to Giles about what was going to happen next.

Giles was thinking about going back to England, and recovering what was left of the Watchers Council. There was already talk of starting up a Slayer training facility once more Slayers had been found. Buffy became heavily involved with the discussion, all the while directing Giles, glad of the distraction. She, too, was thinking about England, and thought it might be a nice change of pace from California. And, maybe seeing Europe. She had always wanted to go to Paris, and Rome. It would be good for Dawn, too, who had never been farther than San Francisco. And Dad was in Spain, living the cliché with his secretary, so maybe she could drop in on him too. And possibly shout at him for never visiting after Mom died, Buffy thought.

So it wasn’t until mid-morning before Buffy finally slipped into one of the furnished rooms at the Hyperion Hotel. There was a large double bed, and pleasant furnishings. She noted the heavy drapes, and realized that this was probably Angel’s old room. She looked over at the plain dresser on the other side of the room and picked up a wooden photo frame. The picture inside showed Cordelia, Angel, Wesley and two people she didn’t recognise. Cordelia’s hair was up, in an elegant bun, and she was wearing a black dress that was cut low. She was on Angel’s arm, laughing at something Wesley had said, she thought. Angel was wearing a tuxedo, as were the other men, and he was oblivious to the camera. He was looking adoringly at the pretty ex-cheerleader.

He loved her. She realised.

Funny.

That should hurt her more.

Huh.

Her eyes flitted over to Wesley, who was looking at Cordelia as she laughed, standing next to a pretty brunette, while a black man Buffy didn’t recognise seemed to be whispering something amusing in her ear. Buffy smiled at the picture, and felt a pang for Angel when he remembered that Cordelia was in a coma. The way they were dressed showed that they were going out somewhere, maybe to a formal or perhaps somewhere like the opera.

Placing the picture back on the dresser, she walked into the bathroom that was connected to her room. Although she was exhausted, her clothes were chafing her, and she really needed to wash the blood off of her, as well as her hair. She picked up the bag that Willow had dropped off at her room, and opened it to find a pair of pyjamas, a toothbrush and toothpaste, vanilla body wash, coconut shampoo/conditioner, two bath towels and, bizarrely, a box of tissues. Willow had evidently been shopping, something she had realised when she saw many of the girls donning similar pyjamas, as well as the large bags of food. She went into the bathroom, stripped and turned the water on. When the water was warm enough, she entered it, and set about cleaning the blood and grime from her body and hair. When she was finished, she dried off, and donned the pyjamas, which, she registered, were covered in Christmas trees.

Must be a clearance sale. A really overdue one.

She brushed her hair and washed her teeth, before entering the bedroom again. She dropped the bag onto the bedside table, and closed the drapes. Collapsing onto the bed, she tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, too tired to even bother with any covers. Sighing, she laid on her back, and tried to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling. Her face crumpled in confusion, when it suddenly hit her exactly what she was feeling.

Hollow.

Grief.

Pain.

Guilt.

Alone.

Spike was dead. Dead. He wasn’t coming back.

He was gone.

And she loved him.

And he hadn’t believed her.

He was dead. Gone. Dust. Buried at the bottom of the hellmouth with that stupid amulet. He wasn’t coming back to her. He would never hold her while she slept again. Never touch her, stroke her hair, kiss her. Never hit her, annoy her, taunt her. Never call her pet, love, kitten, Goldilocks, cutie or sweetheart. Never fight with her, train with her patrol with. Never watch her back. He would never look at her with those deep, blue eyes that would change colour with mood.

He would never tell her he loved her again.

And she would never get to tell him.

A cracked sob escaped her throat that was painful from the lump in it.

Were you there with me?

I was.

What does that mean?

I don’t know.

And, God help her she didn’t. She hadn’t been able to name the feelings she had for him, so different from those she’d had for Angel. Her feelings for Spike were nothing like the romantic, fanciful albeit deep love she’d had for her first love. The feelings she had for Spike were raw, passionate, powerful, and shook her to her very core. She hadn’t been able to recognise them until the very last moment. When she had linked her hand with his and felt his soul burning inside him, and looked up into his eyes that were filled with awe and love. When she realised she was going to lose him, that he was going to die and she realised that she was looking at him in the exact way he was looking at her.

She loved him.

Buffy loves Spike.

And he didn’t believe her.

No, you don’t. But thanks for saying it.

Another cry erupted from her throat, and this time she was unable to hold anymore back. Tears streamed down her face, and her body shook with the intensity of every sob. Her hands fisted in the sheets, and her tears soaked into the pillow. Just last night he had been here, holding her close to his chest, afraid to let her go. Keeping her safe from the world, in a bubble of happiness and love. Stroking her hair, kissing her temple, whispering comforts into her ear.

And now he wasn’t.

Now she was alone. The crying was becoming steady now, as Buffy relived everything she had done with him.

When she first met him, outside the Bronze, vowing to kill her.

Their first fight, him about to plunge his fangs into her neck and drain her dry.

Putting him in a wheelchair.

Asking for her help in killing Angel.

Drunk and depressed when Dru left him.

Taunting her with the Gem of Amarra.

Seeking her help once again when he was chipped.

Willow’s engagement spell, sitting on his lap and making wedding plans.

Betraying her to Adam.

Making small talk with her family.

Telling her he loved her.

Finding flowers he had left for her dead mother.

Vowing to protect her sister.

The look of awe when he realized she was alive again.

The guilt in his eyes when he apologised for being unable to save her.

The images came thick and fast now, clouding Buffy’s brain as she struggled with the pain the memories invoked.

Saving her from that stupid singing demon.

Kissing her.

Having sex with her.

Beating the crap out of him for wanting to help her.

When she broke up with him.

The look of horror on his face when he realised what he had almost done in the bathroom.

Draped over a cross when he told her about his soul.

Insane in the basement.

Helping her train the potentials.

Having faith in her when everyone else had turned her away.

Helping her through one of the worst nights of her life.

God, it was too much. It was too painful. She needed him, needed him to hold her, kiss her, never let her go. Needed him to tell her that she was going to be okay. Needed…needed…needed him. Reaching out for the box of tissues, she hastily grabbed a few, and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but they were immediately replaced by fresh ones. Her stomach was in knots, and she thought she might pass out from the pain. She didn’t know how long she lay there crying before two people slipped into the room with her. She dimly registered her sister lying down next to her, spooning her body against her own, and gently stroking her damp hair from her face. Willow lied down on the other side of Buffy, and held her hand as she cried, as the two offered what little comfort they could.



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Got the end scene of Willow and Dawn from the episode when Phoebe kills Cole on Charmed, and Piper and Paige comfort her on the bed while she cries. I thought it was really sweet, so I wanted to try something like it.





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