A deep breath, and her shaky legs were forced over the cold white sheets and down onto the floor. Cold, that’s why she shook. That dream or hallucination or…stroke, whatever. It still lingered, making her sanity feel frail again. Like glass. And she was afraid she was just as see-through. She made her way to the bathroom door and reached out a hesitant hand for cold metal that could swing open and reveal a whole different world. She was being silly, she told herself. This wasn’t some stupid Narnia. Should she be expecting to see fur? Probably not, she decided kamikaze-style. Buffy pushed through that silly barrier of trauma, forced her toes to sweep across the chilly bathroom floor until she faced the sharp image of herself in the mirror. See, nothing to be afraid of. Except for the fact that someday in a not so far away future her face would transform into one giant dark bag under her eyes.
Buffy felt sick. And she knew she must be. Because again, she wasn’t sure. Which world? She wasn’t even sure who she wanted to be. Superhero with sore shoulders from carrying the world, or drooling lunatic strapped to a bed? Neither seemed healthy. Now patented sobs grew in her throat, and she wiped furiously at eyes that hadn’t even begun to flood. She was tired of this, tired of not knowing, just crying in that hopeless defeated way. Fury saved her and she breathed out those tears in a shaky sigh. She raised her eyes to the mirror. The gasp seemed to empty her lungs. There, in the mirror. Insanity. Just behind her left shoulder. Willow, face determined and mouth moving in relentless chanting. She could hear it in low whispers now, strange words spoken by a familiar voice.
The world seemed to spin and waver before her eyes. Light swirled in the mirror and reached for her in smoky wisps. She could feel the air growing thinner and a sensation of having something liquid slide off your senses overwhelmed her. Like she was waking up, or breaking the surface of a calm, cold lake…she tried to fight her way out of the bathroom that seemed to fade with each of her panicked pants, because suddenly all she cared about was whether he was fading too. He couldn’t be! He just—he had to be there. Because if she lost him now, now that he’d become the reason and purpose and only thing solid…no. If he faded away now, she knew she’d shatter in a million sharp pieces that no glue was super enough to fix. She needed to cling now. Cling to his arm and be swallowed by safety. Now, please.
The world wavered before her and nausea crept into her panic. Buffy forced her sweaty cold body towards the door and heaved through it at the same time as it stopped existing. Time stopped. Or maybe it just started again. It was like waking up. Like shrugging off your clothes and standing naked in a cold wind. She felt like a smothering cover of air liquefied and slowly ran off her with every quake. Her eyelids seemed to penetrate a heavy fog and at once the world became clear and focused. Sharp. Light. Buffy tried to fight the nausea as she stared into reality. She closed her eyes for just a second and allowed herself to wish she could have had it the other way.
Spike pushed through the illusion with a gasp. Felt the scales fall from his eyes, or some bollocks like that. He felt sick and weak, like a wrung-out towel. He lay in a bed, soft and warm. Reality had reclaimed him. This was reality, no doubt. And it crashed down on him. He lost the breath he suddenly didn’t need again. All they’d experienced in the institution…nothing was true. They were back to where they started. He was back to soulless thing. She was back to Slayer. She was again above him, and she felt nothing for him. Nothing except repulsion. That was all he was now. And even if she did need him, he’d be convenient at best. She’d never again let him in, let him be close. She didn’t love him. She couldn’t, because…because he was…bad? Spike swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hardly noticed he was in Buffy’s room, receiving a concerned look from Dawn who stood in the doorway. The room was dark, yet too bright for his eyes. He knew he was crying as he pushed past her, not hearing a word she said, just shrugging off her hands and focusing on moving forward. Buffy never loved you, he tried to convince himself, never has. Get over it, mate. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know how he’d survived before. Spike got down the stairs and through the door without falling. A miracle, since his whole body felt limp and unsteady. His shoulders shook as he hurried into the dark. Where he belonged.
“Willow?” Buffy’s voice was smothered against her friend’s shoulder. Willow sniffled and squeezed her best friend a little extra before pulling away.br>
“I was afraid you’d be comatose for all eternity” Willow said throatily, taking hold of Buffy’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re back!”
“Spike?” The question left her lips before she could even think it. Her body hummed with both fear and anticipation for the answer.
“We couldn’t risk taking him to the hospital, since…kinda dead?”
Buffy’s eyes widened in horror.
“But in a live way, of course!” She added. “Dawn’s been taking care of him” Willow smiled reassuringly.
Buffy looked around warily. She was still in a hospital. Things were still white and sterile. “How did you…?”
“Magic.” Willow looked guilty. “I know I said there’d be no more magic, but I couldn’t just…I couldn’t just leave you like that. I’m sorry. It was just…there was no other way. And…” Her eyes widened and she squeezed Buffy’s hand in sudden panic. “I didn’t pull you out of heaven again, did I?”
Buffy flashed her a faint smile. “Not so much, no.” She’d missed Willow a lot, she realized. Even before she went nuts they’d been so distanced from each other. Absorbed in their own problems.
“Phew.”
Buffy squeezed Willow’s hand. “Can we go home now?”
“A-are you sure? I mean, you did just wake up from a coma. Shouldn’t you be resting, a-and having tests and stuff? And jello! You should have jello! There’s no point in hospitals without jello!”
“I’ll survive. “ Buffy said dryly, “Don’t like jello anyway.”
“But! But…jello?”
Buffy walked up the stairs and shakily opened the door. Her room looked the same. The only traces of him were the rumpled sheets in her bed. She knew he must’ve left the moment he could walk, not knowing how she’d react to him. She couldn’t blame him, because she didn’t really know either. She was tired of having her world turned upside down, tired of thinking. Tears tickled their way down her face. She was so used to it by now; it made her cry even harder. And she knew. She just wanted to bury her face in his shoulder, no matter where they were. He was safe and soft, and she…she loved him. A little smile broke through the tears, and she got on the bed, curling up around her pillow. It smelled like him. Not cigarettes and leather, just…him.
Heavy darkness surrounded her as she sat on the porch, brooding with all her soul. Raw cold had her hugging herself tightly. Or maybe she just felt lonely. Her breaths were shaky again. She could vaguely remember a time when breathing seemed natural. Easy, even. The door behind her opened softly, and Tara’s mild voice asked for permission to join her. Buffy smiled faintly and patted the wood beside her. “Sure. Join the brood-mood. We have cookies. Or we would have, if we bought some. Brooders don’t bake.”
Tara smiled and sat down. “Are you doing okay? Dawn said you and Spike…uh, you shared the illusion?” she said, worried smile forcing up the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, uh…yeah. Yep. Sharing the insanity. That’s us, me and S—yes. Same illusion.” Buffy stared down, tried not to blush or burst into tears.
“So, was it—did he…how…?”
“I don’t know, I just, I…” Buffy stared through the darkness. “When everything else around you crumbles and fades…you hold on to what is left. And I saw him. Him. What he is if you take away everything…I saw what was left.” She turned to look into Tara’s eyes, lips tightening in a strangled smile. “And I love him,” she whispered. Buffy turned her head quickly to stare out into darkness again, afraid of Tara’s reaction. She knew it was…controversial. Hard to grasp. But not wrong, not anymore. It was different now. She was different.
“You should talk to him” Tara said quietly.
“Yeah. I really should.” She turned to Tara and smiled her first genuine smile since reality had ripped through her illusions. “Thank you.”
She walked through darkness that fed her insecurity. She hadn’t been afraid of the dark for a very long time. And maybe it wasn’t the dark she feared as she made her way past familiar tombs. It was one of those nights when mist swirled around your feet and you expected vampires to sink their teeth through your soft skin to taste your crimson blood, or zombies to reach warty greenish hands through the soil and close their fingers in a firm grim round your ankle. It was a familiar, safe feeling. Safety was sucked into a black hole as he caught sight of him, leaning against a mausoleum wall, smoking. He tossed away the cigarette and looked up, straight into her eyes. Straight into her core.
“Hi.” She looked at him tentatively, searching for the right words. Words had always been important to him, and she had to do this right. ”Spike, I--”
“You love me,” he interrupted; breathlessly waiting for the rejection he knew would come.
“Wow, color me transparent,” she snapped, mad at him for making this so hard.
“Right.” His features froze. It made him look so fragile. His shoulders rose in a defensive gesture, and he started to move away from her.
Buffy panicked and reached out for his hand. “Spike!” She watched him turn, saw him struggle with his hope. She cast her eyes down; let them rest on the dark ground.
“It was a beautiful dream,” she told him, watching his world crumble and all hope die. Her eyes met his, and she whispered, “Most of it was true.”
He frowned, eyes shining with sudden tears. A faint smile tugged on the corners of her mouth and her face softened. “We belong together,” she said with certainty, soft tears in her voice. Like the ones stuck in his eyes. “I love you.”
A gentle, awed kiss drew their lips together, surrounded by the fading world. Because it isn’t when your world crumbles that it fades. It’s when you don’t need it anymore.