Beyond the Veil of Shadow
DISCLAIMER: I own it all. I also have oceanfront property in Nevada overlooking the Mackinac Bridge. Come on, if I owned Buffy, I wouldn’t be writing fanfics; I’d be writing scripts.
A/N: Okay, seriously? I suck at coming up with ideas. Like, majorly. Ideas are my arch nemesisis. (Hehe) I just thought this was a cool title. This Is my first attempt at Dark Fic, so be nice. Uh, tissue warning, to be safe.
SUMMARY: If I had one, I’d let you know. I’m bad at coming up with these, too. Uhh, got it! Spike mourns Buffy’s death. Dark Fic.
FEEDBACK: My muse gets angry when her feedback requests are ignored. My suggestion? R&R. Trust me, you don’t want an angry Flying Esophagus Monkey at your door. Flames will only result in my laughing at you. A lot.
TIMELINE: AU. Post ‘The Gift’ Pre ‘Bargaining’. In other words, Buffy is six feet under.
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She had looked so peaceful. A small, broken angel, lying on top of the rubble as the sun started its climb across the sky. Her eyes were closed, but a golden light illuminated her, making her look very much alive. A passerby would simply think that she was asleep, visiting dreamlands untold.
But they knew better. HE knew better. He smelled the death before he saw it, and prayed. Prayed that it wasn’t her, that it wasn’t his Slayer. He was wrong.
When he saw her, she had looked so holy, he was afraid to touch her, for fear of getting burned. It wasn’t until his skin began to sizzle from the morning sun that he realized there wasn’t anyone who he’d like to burn him more.
They had asked him to carry her; he was the only one strong enough. So he picked her up, feeling the fire within her no more. She was cold, like him.
Then they asked the unimaginable. To keep her in his crypt, in the sarcophagus, until they could bury her. He found the courage to comply, but he refused to go upstairs for more than a minute or two while she was there.
He remembered them coming to dress her for the funeral. A black dress, of course, but it wasn’t HER black. There was nothing spunky or unique about it. All the dress succeeded in doing was thickening the veil that was separating her more and more from their world. From his world.
They arranged the funeral for night, so he could attend. Even though the special arrangement was made for his benefit, he stood outside the cluster the entire service. He didn’t want them to see him cry.
Every night he would sit at her grave beneath the willow and talk to her, from sundown to dawn. When the thin line of pink appeared on the horizon, he would kiss the headstone tenderly and leave. The lightening horizon would cause too much pain. I t would bee too much like the day she left. The day she slipped beyond the veil.
Every day he would sit alone and drink. Often he would cry. Many times he’d scream at the injustice of it all. Every time he would ask, “Why her?”
Every day there would be no answer.
They brought him blood, but would leave almost immediately after arriving. The broken man that lived there was too much to handle. Too much pain. Too much anger. Too much raw emotion; more than any of them thought possible.
Then the day came. The day he wasn’t there. She knew where he was, of course, but it was daylight. She sprinted to the grave to see a crouching figure under a burning blanket. She stood and listened as he spoke.
“. . . I know it wasn’t real to you, but that was the best experience of my entire existence. I only wish I would’ve gotten a chance to know you on a deeper level. Life isn’t-wasn’t-easy, pet, and I’ve decided I’m sick of it. Sick of this world. My life has extended long beyond its expiration date, and I’ve decided to pull myself off the shelf. Buffy, knowing you, loving you, is the greatest thing anyone could ask for. I know I never had your love in return, but that doesn’t matter to me. I love you. So much, pet. So bloody much. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll join you beyond the veil.”
With those final words, the blanket was thrown off in a flourish. She screamed, “Spike, no!” but knew in her heart she was too late.
As his face began to burn, he turned to her and whispered, “G’bye, Red,” before exploding into ashes upon the grave.
Willow took a steadying breath as a lone tear rolled down her cheek. She walked over to the grave and gingerly scooped up what was left of William the Bloody. She pulled a small jar out of her pocket and looked at what each hand was holding. Sighing sadly she whispered, “Ash of the lover,” as she carefully dumped his remains into the jar.
A/N2: *whistles* Maybe not teary, but that was dark, right? And did anyone catch my veil references? It’s kind of representative of one of the last chapters of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, called ‘Beyond the Veil’. I just thought it was cool, metaphorically. And I know, I know, not much dialogue. Oh well, deal with it. Dialogue would’ve ruined it. Feedback please! Don’t forget my flying esophagus monkey threat... *glares*
