Comfort in The Silence by Barbie Girl

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Spoilers: ATS Destiny and possibly some Buffy Novels…
Characters: Willow, Spike, Lucy, Buffy
Summary: To those who take comfort in the silence…
AN: Okay This is sort of a non Drabble response to Drabble Challenge #2(Silence). I'm sorry but 100 words wasn't gonna cut it folks. Also *BIG HUGS* to Maribel for quickly Beta-ing it for me. And lastly, consider this a warning: This is NOT a happy, puppy, rainbows, and sunshine fic…





Comfort in the Silence


Willow raised a hand up to her mouth to stifle a yawn. Books were spread over the table and the floor, certain pages were marked, her notes were scribbled in different pen colors to coordinate the information. Everyone had gone to bed long ago, leaving her alone in the small flat that belonged to Giles. She shut the book with a quiet thump. Tired eyes darting around the room, something didn't seem right. She rose; glancing around the dimly lit room once more, nothing was out of place, unless you counted the volumes encroaching on the house, seeming to multiply across the floor. But these days it wasn't an unusual sight, they had so much to learn. Still there was something not quite right but she couldn't place her finger on it. She shrugged her too thin shoulders, gathering her notes protectively in her arms and headed upstairs.

She had only reached the third step when a faint silver light nearly made her topple over, she gripped the banister holding herself steady. "Oh. Lucy." She sighed at the ghostly slayer of the past hovering on the top of Giles' staircase. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, after all she had summoned her, begging a favor. "So how did it go?"

She offered no sign, no facial tick, no emotion pouring from her dead eyes. "I told her that his time to walk among us has past, that I guided him to the heavenly plane."

"Oh. Good." Willow nodded and with that Lucy vanished. It was for the best, the red head reminded herself. She was the only Scooby who knew of Spike's return, placing her in the uncomfortable position of making choices without any guidance. Spike had asked her not to tell Buffy, he made her promise. She had begged and pleaded with him to let her best friend know. She’d told him of how Buffy cried herself to sleep every night, how she had spent countless hours researching about the amulet, worried that he had been pulled into the darkness and not the light as she had been. But in the end it made no difference, both Angel and Spike were firm. Something about not being the right time.

She had promised, she had given her word, but when she returned to England and was faced with the pale half starved waif of a girl posing as her best friend, she knew she had to do something, anything to help her. She had quickly weighed her options, if she couldn't help Buffy have Spike, she could help her let go of him. All she really seemed to want to know was that he was safe, and happy, in a place meant for champions. Trouble was that not many came passing through with news from the undead. It was then that she had thought of Lucy, surely Buffy would never doubt her, she had been a slayer, and in death she now walked the ghost roads, guiding lost souls to their rest places. Buffy would listen to her.

And apparently she had, which was a good thing, right? Willow shivered as she passed through the spot Lucy had been seconds before, the air cool against her flesh and suddenly she knew what had seemed so different. The house was quiet, perfectly silent. She tiptoed to Buffy's room, pressing her ear against the door. No more quiet sobs, no restless tumbling, just silence. The witch smiled to herself taking comfort in the silence, Buffy was sleeping peacefully, that was all the proof she needed that it had been the right decision to tell her a little white lie. She crossed the floor, opening the door to her room. Tomorrow, she told herself, she would try to get her to eat something. Maybe take her out to that pub Giles was always going on about. Tomorrow everything would be okay. Buffy could heal now; she could let Spike rest.

But tomorrow would never come. In a small upstairs room, in the flat of her mentor, a girl slept, an empty bottle that once held fifty pills clutched in her hand, a note written in long scrawl gripped in the other.

I'm coming, Spike.

Buffy.


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