Spoilers: all of BtVS, post- “Chosen”. Let’s just assume Spike didn’t die, eh?
Warnings: Character Death, Suicide, Tissue Warning, Severe Angst, Extreme Fluffiness…don’t ask.
Thanks: Melissa, my beta.
When you’re the mortal one in a relationship, you always figure you’ll be the one to die first. You worry about what condition you’ll leave your lover behind in. If they’ll continue living. If they’ll give up. If they’ll remember you centuries later.
You don’t ever imagine that the immortal one will die. That you’ll be left alone. To remember them. And know their legacy will end with your life, because you have no way to carry it on.
You don’t imagine that you’ll never get the chance to say all you wanted to. That you’ll never get the chance to tell them you loved them just once more. Or that you hated when they left the sink full of dishes. Or tell them that you’ll always love them and ask them to never leave again. You don’t get to tell them that you need and want them. That you can’t live without them.
You don’t imagine that you’ll shut out all your friends. Starve yourself, lower your hygiene. That you won’t be able to do anything outside of replay that fateful day repeatedly in your mind’s eye. That you’ll snap on anyone that dares bother you in your untimely period of grief.
You don’t imagine that your friends would go to desperate measures; repeat an unforgivable blunder, just to return a smile to your face. You don’t imagine that your love will go through hell, keeping their pent up anger and resentment to themselves. Or that they’ll secretly wish they could die.
But you’ll be oblivious. You’ll be so happy that they’re back; you’ll ignore their angst. You’ll ignore how out of place they seem. The ominous dark cloud over their head. The way their eyes are dull and their smiles were fake. The daze they seem to be in that you should remember.
You don’t imagine coming home one day to an eerie silence. Walking up the stairs to your shared bedroom. Finding the love of your life sprawled on your bed, left hand hanging over the edge, in it a bottle and a slip of crumpled paper.
You never imagine hurriedly reading the note that begged for your friends to let them be this time, to let them stay dead. That they couldn’t live life, even if with you. You check the bottle and scream at the emptiness.
And the tears come. You never imagine that you’d clutch at the lifeless body, begging for them to come back. You’d do anything just to bring them back. You can’t bear the loss this time.
You don’t think you’ll have to write your own note and raid the bathroom. You find the blade and slice your wrists quickly, before you can change your mind. You watch as the blood drains down the sink and you slump onto the counter as you begin to feel lightheaded.
You don’t imagine that you’ll look back on the past seven to eight years of your life spent with your lover. That you’ll feel sleepy and close your eyes for the final time and die.
You don’t imagine that your best friend will come home to find your lover and then you in the bathroom. You don’t imagine that she’ll call nine-one-one and then the Scoobies. You don’t imagine that she’ll read, first your lover’s and then your own note, tears in her eyes.
You would never imagine the joint funeral days later. For you and your lover. Willow doing a final spell on each of you. Just to make sure you couldn’t be resurrected for any reason. You don’t imagine that Dawn would only have Willow, Xander and Giles. Or that Angel would actually cry over your lover.
What you can imagine is the heavenly plane awaiting you, your lover waiting for you at the gates. You rush into his arms, crying happily.
“I never thought I’d see you again.” You whisper, memorizing every detail of their face, from the bleached hair to the sharp blue eyes.
He smiles at you and your heart melts. Only Spike.
“We’re forever, Buffy. I thought you knew that.”
A/N: I felt angst-y at the beginning. By the time I got to the end, I felt fluffy. So sue me.
