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CHAPTER 12 -- Before Today

Author’s Note: Well, this is it! The last chapter! It makes me sad, it truly does. This was my baby and I’m VERY proud of it and am sad to see it go, but I got down in this story all the ideas I had originally planned and then some. But now I can fill the void by focusing on “Game of Love” and “Comedown”. I really hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. And thank you to every single person who reviewed Before Today -- it kept me writing.


Buffy woke up tangled in a white sheet. The feeling of her constricted limbs startled and panicked her, but with a look over to the man sprawled out to her right, her heart palpitations quickly ceased.

He looked like a sculpture she’d see in one of those fancy New York museums. One arm was under his pillow, the other flung over his lower abdomen, the entire expanse of his chest open for her to see. The only thing covering him was the sheet seemingly strategically placed between his legs. Buffy took a deep breath of the forest air, running a hand through her mused hair. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so well rested and relaxed. A slight stirring in the corner of the room distracted her. She smiled at Spike’s sleeping form, running her fingers over the curly ends of his hair. She readjusted the sheet over her body before turning towards the noise, thinking it was merely an animal outside the window.

There, in the corner of the room the morning light had yet to reach, was Angel. The look on her face must have pleased him because he smirked, “Not so eager to loose your panties now are you?” He spoke in a dangerous, low tone. He stood and began to approach the bed. Buffy glanced worriedly at the man beside her.

“Don’t wake him,” he said. His voice turned mocking, “He looks so cute when he’s asleep.” He had a knife in his hand.

Buffy curled up into herself, “What are you doing, Angel?”

“What can I say, Buffy? You proved to be expendable.”

Spike whipped around in the bed, a hand coming out from under his pillow, a gun in hand.

A hole exploded in Angel’s chest, spraying scarlet onto the sheets. He stumbled forward as two more bullets ripped though him. Spike’s gun remained unfired.

The smoke of the barrel cleared to reveal a well manicured brunette in a Prada miniskirt and Malano Blanik boots standing in the doorway. She sighed, blowing her long bangs out of her line of vision, “God I’ve always wanted to do that.” Spike stared at the room’s newest occupant, Buffy clung the sheets to her chest. “That felt good . . . Really good.”

Buffy sat, purely stunned, her eyes not able to tear themselves away from the body on the floor. The entire evidence of her past, ever dark bit of it, lay dead at the foot of her bed.

“You must be Buffy,” the girl extended her hand, “I’m Cordelia, the one who sent Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber out to kill you for a lot of money,” she finished in a friendly manner. Buffy numbly took the girl’s offered hand. Cordy nudged Angel’s lifeless body with the toe of her boot, “It seems we have an ex-boyfriend in common.”

Right then, Xander and Willow came running from their respective rooms, crashing over each other to reach the commotion. Xander ran in, a gun in each hand and a knife tucked into the waistband of his boxers, “Where is he!?” His eyes darted around the room, not fully focused to the morning light.

Spike twisted, reaching over to the nightstand on his right. Grabbing a pack of smokes, he lit one and took a drag, calming his nerves, “Do the two of you purposely hide from conflict or is it just your impeccable timing?” He motioned to the carcass bleeding into the carpeting.

Xander and the redhead looked past Cordy, “Oh,” gasped Willow.

Cordelia addressed Spike, “Sorry it took me so long to get here. It took me until Loose Lips here called me to put it all together,” she motioned to Xander. She glared at the blonde man in the bed, “But if you EVER try to leave me in the dark again when you have grave peril on your hands, I’ll blow your fucking balls off, got it!?” Spike nodded in agreement.

“Now what?” asked Buffy quietly. Yes, her past was now abruptly behind her, but what about her future? She had always banked on the idea that one day Angel would pay her out and she could start anew off of the money he gave her. Her future had disappeared along with her checkered history.

When no one in the room jumped with a suggestion, Spike ran his hand up and down Buffy’s back comfortingly, “Well, I have a bit under a million in my bank account . . . .”

“You have a million dollars,” Cordelia corrected.

Spike looked at her questioningly, “But I told Harris to take money from my account and put it in yours.”

Cordelia shrugged, “You need it more than I do. You earned it. I mean, how many shoes can one girl buy, am I right?”

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The four stood in front of Spike’s old Desoto. Buffy was dressed in a white sundress with cherries on it, Spike in a white t-shirt, brown leather jacket, blue jeans, and sneakers.

“So Harris, what are you going to do now?”

Xander stuck his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, “Well, I’ve always been pretty good at fixing things. Remember that window I had to fix that you blew out when we went on the McRenyolds hit?” Spike chuckled at their disastrous assassination years ago. “Maybe I’ll open up my own construction company.”

Willow gazed at the blonde couple wistfully. Leave it to the redhead to find the romanticism amidst all the bloodshed and gore. “What about you guys? Off to see the world?”

Buffy rolled her eyes at her best friend, “A world of no. I’ve seen enough of the world and its inner workings, thank you.”

Spike wrapped his arms around Buffy’s waist. She leaned back into his chest. “We were thinking London. Get a loft, work in a café or art gallery somewhere.” Buffy closed her eyes and relaxed at the thought of being on the other side of the ocean, in a country she’d never set foot on, with a man that she ultimately loved, with the possibility to do whatever they wanted -- absolutely liberating.

Willow sighed, “Well, I guess this is it then.” She wiped at the water beginning to pour out of the corners of her eyes.

“Bye Will,” Buffy’s eyes began to tear as she wrapped her arms around the girl that saved her life and kept her sane for so many years.

Xander shook the hand of his partner, “If you’re ever in the L.A. area, give me and Anya a call, huh?”

Spike smiled, “Will do,” he clapped his best friend on the back. He picked up Buffy’s last bag, tossing it into the back seat. “Time to go, luv,” he rubbed her arms, kissing her shoulder. They crossed to the other side of the car, Spike opened the door for her and she slid in. He closed the door behind her and waved one last goodbye before getting behind the wheel.

Xander and Willow stood, watching as the taillights disappeared into the far distance.

Buffy closed her eyes, resting her head back in the passenger seat. Spike looked over at her and smiled. She was the youngest he’d ever seen her. Her hair shiny and her skin vibrant. He intertwined his fingers in hers. She opened her eyes to gaze at him silently, giving his a sweet smile. He lifted their arms, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, then turned back to the long road ahead, leaving them both to drift into their own thoughts.

Before today.

Before this man.

Before this girl.

There was nothing.

THE END

(End credits -- “Maps” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and “Closing Time” by Tom Waits)





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