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a/n Major thanks to spikeslovebite for an AWESOME beta job, thank you!!!!!!
Chapter 2
By Bloodshedbaby
Spike distractedly crushed his cigarette out under the heel of his boot, leaving a smoldering imprint in the grass of the cemetery he was currently patrolling.
 
It had been 147 days.
 
    147 days she'd been gone; each minute stretching into a blind eternity. 147 days of emptiness so complete that Spike didn't think he'd ever dig himself out... and didn't really know if he wanted to.  He didn't deserve an end to this eternal torment; he had let her die. His mate was gone forever.  Even the fiery pits of hell would be a vacation compared to this endless living nightmare.
 
    But the same part of him that craved his death and an end to the pain also refused to give up the piece of her he still clung to. The memories of their stolen moments together...
 
    A part of him had died along with Buffy, something vital. She had lived in his heart; and he carried the weight of her absence inside of him where it taunted him mercilessly. That particular organ may no longer beat, but a significant piece of it had been lost that night all the same. 
 
    So now he did the only thing he could do by keeping his eye on everything Buffy had held close to her. Kept the nasties away from her little Scooby club, took care of Dawn, and threw himself into being the exact opposite of what he was-a soulless monster. 
 
    Not that his efforts were ever noticed. The others were too caught up in their own selfish needs and grief to notice anything. Spike didn't have a problem with that though, preferring his mostly solitary existence. He found it much easier to break down and grieve if there was nobody around to see you, and more importantly; mock you for it.  
 
    On more than one occasion, Spike had jerked out of a sound sleep; a question weighing heavily on his mind, 'Was it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?'
 
    And each time he would swiftly come to a firm conclusion. No, he wouldn’t trade having had Buffy's love for even a moment, even though the pain of that loss consumed him; an agony without end. There was an empty place inside him that she had so briefly touched, a place that would never be filled again.
 
    Pulling himself out of his morose thoughts, Spike stopped and extended his senses, hoping for a spot of violence to provide just a bit of cloud coverage for his shredded emotions. He frowned a bit at the surge of static electricity in the air, his gelled hair feeling the effects.
 
    He was lucky enough to be patrolling solo tonight, something that always came as a blessing.  During the times when he couldn't escape patrolling with the soddin' Scoobies, it always felt like a bad comedy routine. How had the Slayer tolerated their ineptitude for so many years? He'd lost count of the times he'd had to bail their asses out of one scrape or another. Not that he was ever thanked for his heroics, of course; listening as blatant excuses spilled from their ungrateful mouths about how they didn't really need his help. Yet they let him take care of Dawn without a second thought. 
 
    There was a scuffling noise in the far corner of the cemetery and Spike allowed a cruel grin to slide across his face. He welcomed the distraction of a newly risen vamp with bad timing, picking this particular moment to rise when Spike was on the grounds.  It was a brief reprieve in a barren world, and Spike decided to let it extend a bit longer than usual. Anything to give his life a small hint of color.
 
   It didn't take long for the fledgling to flounder under Spike's brutal attack. Violence against his kind was the only outlet he allowed himself these days; the only thing that made him forget for just a moment that he was alone. Alcohol just served to be the depressant it really was. He’d learned the hard way that there was no solace to be found at the bottom of a bottle, plus his duties to take care of Dawn were hampered when he was drunk, and that just wouldn't do.
 
     After pulverizing almost every bone in his unworthy opponent's body, Spike finally whipped out the stake nestled in the pocket of his black leather duster and poised it above the beaten vampire.  As his arm plunged down to drive the sharp wooden point through shattered ribs and into a non-beating heart, Spike suddenly gasped in shock.
 
    The empty hole that Buffy had left behind in his heart suddenly began writhing; a quivering awareness that sent shivers down his spine.  He stared unfocused as vampire dust settled in the grass, trying to make sense of this feeling that had been denied to him since the moment Buffy's body had finished its deadly decent off the tower. 
 
    His whole body shook as feelings suddenly slammed into him.
 
    Fear.
    Panic.
 
    He didn't think; he just moved, his feet swiftly taking him in the direction of the patch of earth that was Buffy's final resting place. His brain tried to wrap around what could have happened, but logic failed to find a foothold in his frantic mindset.
 
    When he reached the small cemetery where she was buried, Spike threw himself down on the grass where he had spent so many nights crying.  He didn't know what he was looking for and why it was so important that he be here, he was relying on instinct. 
 
 
    And then he heard it.
 
    Scratching.
 
   With a sharp cry, Spike knelt in the grass above her and began ripping it apart. Loosely packed chunks of earth were tossed aside in his desperate pursuit to reach the ornate wood coffin that Xander had built.  Fingers raw and bleeding, he went about the task with ferocious intent, the pain refusing to register as his focus intensified.  He could hear her now; muffled screams reaching his ears, bringing a flood of tears to his eyes. Spike didn't spare a thought to WHY; his sole objective to reach the smooth wooden lid... and find out what lay behind it. 
 
    After what seemed like an eternity, his fingers found the lid of the coffin. With an extra spurt of supernatural strength, Spike tore through the remaining remnants of earth, his heart clenching at the sounds of the frantic clawing and desperate pleas from within. 
 
    "Buffy?" 
 
    Silence.
 
    Then the sound of panicked crying once more, the echo of fingernails working the underside of the coffin lid as whatever was inside tried frantically to free itself.
 
    "I'm getting ya out, luv. Turn your head to the side; I'm gonna have to punch my way through."
 
    A muffled silence was his response that she heard the orders, and Spike proceeded to smash his way through the outer rim of the coffin.
 
    His fist crashed through on the second try. Spike tore at the offending wood still in his way and was suddenly met with a pair of wide, panic-stricken eyes, her mouth gasping for the fresh air that was now available. It was a face frozen in terror, but it was HER.  Spike realized the clothes she had been buried in had started the typical postmortem decomposition process, but somehow Buffy had been spared that same fate.  
 
    It reeked of witchcraft, but Spike wasn't concerned with the 'why's' at the moment.
 
  Spike hesitantly held a hand out to Buffy, almost afraid to touch her. "Come on, pet; let's get you out of there."
 
    There was no flicker of awareness that she had heard him, her eyes wide and filled with panic, her entire face a canvas of acute mental agony. Her breath was coming fast and shallow now, and Spike could hear her heart racing at an abnormally rapid pace.
   
With a muffled curse, Spike realized he was in game face and self disgust flooded him at the knowledge that he had added to her distress. Quickly, he shook off the ridges and fangs, never allowing his eyes to leave hers. 
 
    "S-spike?" her voice was husky and rough from disuse, and absolutely the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. Oh god, it was her voice.
 
    A fresh torrent of tears flooded his eyes, and he smiled down at her. "Yeah, pet. It's Spike."
 
    Her face crumpled as huge sobs suddenly overwhelmed her, and just as Spike was withdrawing his hand, she clutched at it in desperation. 
 
    In less than a moment, Spike had her out of the splintered coffin and onto solid ground where she collapsed against him, her sobs wracking her entire body. This was beyond pain, beyond terror, and Spike found himself crying along with her.
 
    "It's ok, luv. I've got you... Spike’s got you..." he murmured over and over.
 
    But her terror had now made her inconsolable and she clutched him with all the slayer strength she had still possessed, causing Spike to grunt as ribs gave way.
 
    But he was in heaven, and the pain she was inflicting on him just made it real. He wasn't dreaming. Somehow, Buffy had been returned to him.
 
    Her mental agony slowly became his as well, and Spike nearly crumpled under the weight of it. Without thought, his demon did the only thing it could do.

*******

    The panic, the fear... Buffy was helpless against a fresh onslaught of tears, oblivious to the cool, night air and the hole from which she had just emerged. 
 
    She had woken up inside her coffin, frightened and confused. She had instinctively tried to break her way out, but her fingers refused to find purchase against the slippery silk lining above her. Terror beyond anything she’d ever felt before had gripped her with savage, rending claws. She knew with horrified certainty that if she didn’t get air soon, she was going to die. Again.
Memories of where she had been and how she had come to be there were still fresh in her mind, and she sobbed inconsolably when she realized exactly where she was.

In her grave.
 
    A maelstrom of emotions had gripped her as she’d pounded and screamed at the wall above her, certain that no one could hear her cries.

And then she had heard him, felt him.
 
    Suddenly, she knew that everything would be okay, that HE would save her.
 
    But now -wrapped in his arms- the lingering horror of her ordeal quickly overwhelmed her and she was helpless against its cruel onslaught. She had almost suffocated to death in her own coffin; buried alive...  Buffy didn't think that she'd ever recover or feel normal again. Too many emotions began slamming into her at once, making it impossible for her to deal with them... Her heart pounded and her breath whistled torturously in her throat as she gave in to the blinding panic that swept over her.

    Then she had felt his fangs slide into the mark he had left on her neck the night she died and was filled with a sudden, blissful contentment.
 
    Here was utter peace.
 
    She found peace with a vampire's teeth embedded in her throat. The irony of that fact was not lost on her, and even in her tortured mental state she realized his intent. This bite wasn’t about control, or passion, or claiming. This was meant to calm her by taking into himself all that was causing her pain and anguish.

The tears stopped, her breathing evened out, and her eyes fluttered closed. She tipped her head back to allow him better access to her jugular.
 
    Trust.
 
    After what seemed an eternity, Buffy felt him gently retract his fangs from the holes in her neck. He lapped at the wounds, the soft brush of his tongue over her skin tickling slightly. She opened her eyes, looking up into his worried, fearful face.
 
    Just like that, she realized he was nervous about her reaction to his way of dealing with her tormented outburst. Still sniffling, she offered him a slight smile.
 
     "Thanks. I think I needed that."
 
    The answering smile went a long way towards soothing her.
 
    "Buffy..." his voice trailed off as the words he wanted to say fled. By the taste of her, there was no doubt that this was his Buffy.

But how?

Better yet… WHY?

TBC
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