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Author's Chapter Notes:
I own nothing associated with BtVS. We all worship the god that is Joss Whedon. Please don't sue me.
May 20th, 2003

She stood on the edge of her old life. The weight of the world lifted off her shoulders and buried deep within the rubble of what moments before had been Sunnydale. She stood triumphantly behind that yellow school bus full of potentials. Young girls who now shared her responsibility, her strength. Waves of emotion crashed over her, the lifted weight replaced by a heavy heart for those lost in the final battle. Potentials who would never get to experience their destiny, Anya…

Spike.

Buffy blinked back the tears threatening to spill from her sparkling green eyes. A sparkle that had not been there in many years. But it came at a cost. Five years of peroxided and bleached memories ran through her mind and she let herself smile a bit. The monster that had once stalked her from the shadows of the Bronze all those years ago had turned into a champion she had trusted with her life and ultimately let into her heart. She remembered what he said to her before the battle against Glory, and the words stung her heart.

I know you’ll never love me, I know I’m a monster…but you treat me like a man…

At that moment in time, he was right. Loving him was not something Buffy felt she could ever do. Or would ever want to, for that matter. But from that night on, to her, the monster was gone. Replaced with a man who fought for her and her family. She respected him. A tear escaped down her cheek as she thought of those final moments with him. Their hands intertwined, engulfed by the painless flame of the love and passion they shared for one another. And in that moment, she told him, but it was too late.

I love you…

She had seen the love in his eyes swell, it’s as if he had fallen in love with her a thousand times over again in just that brief second.

No you don’t, but thanks for saying it anyways…

As she remembered, her heart shattered, and the tears fell freely down her face.

“Buff?”

Xander approached, battered and bruised like the rest of them.

“Everyone’s loaded up, we gotta get to a hospital soon…some of them got pretty roughed up”, he said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder. His touch was a mix of comfort for her loss and reassurance for the things that lay ahead for them. Buffy turned and embraced her friend. She new he was being strong, but the loss of Anya and the regret of not being there to save her clearly visible in his eyes. They had all lost someone…something that day. None of them would ever be the same. That in itself was enough to mourn, but it was also in some ways a reason to be thankful.

She pulled back from the hug, wiping the tears from her cheek.

“Let’s get out of this hellhole”.

A goofy smile slipped across Xander’s face when she spoke.

“Ha! You said hellhole. This used to be the hell mouth…but now it’s a hole. Hellhole! Get it?”

Buffy laughed, not remembering the last time she found something amusing. She nodded in understanding and patted her friend on the back. Good ol’ Xand, always there with the comic relief. The friends walked away from the ledge up towards the doors of the bus where Willow stood waiting.

“Ready for the next big adventure?”, the redhead asked, her words coated with uncertainty and excitement. The next few hours would be the start of the rest of their lives and whether prepared or not, it was time to leave everything they knew behind .

“As long as it doesn’t involve hell-worshipping, woman hating preachers or scary scary ancient vampires, sign me up!”, Buffy said, ushering Xander and Willow up into the bus before her. Maybe now I’ll be able to keep a manicure looking nice longer than two days…hmm.

She paused for a moment before stepping onto the black platform of the bus steps, turned and gave one last look to the rubble and ruins that lay before her. The nostalgia began to flow and her heart sank again. She was leaving her life…and her love, behind forever. There would be no place for her to come and visit her mother, no grave existed to lay flowers on. God, how she missed her.

Regaining her composure, she breathed in. It felt as if she had been holding her breath for so many years, waiting for a chance to breathe. This was that chance and she wasn’t going to waste it. But oh, how she longed for him to be able to experience this journey with her. Wherever you are, I know you knew that I meant what I said… I know it’s not enough to bring you back to me…but I wish it was…

Closing her eyes, she could feel his presence around her. That smell of leather, tobacco and bourbon that was so uniquely Spike filled her nostrils and she smiled. He was here with her, if just for a few moments. Buffy opened her eyes and it was gone, her heartbreaking all over again. Stepping onto the black platform she climbed the last few steps, letting the door close behind. She took a seat up front and looked to her friends.

“Let’s go gang”.

May 23rd, 2003


Days had passed. Rescue workers and disaster relief crews from surrounding cities had gathered at the hole that was now Sunnydale, searching in vain for any survivors but knowing the only things coming out of dirt and rocks were bodies and rubble. The sun was bright and the air warm. A perfect California day. Men climbed in and out of the rocks, growing more weary with each passing day of no results. Families crowded at the makeshift pavilions eagerly awaiting news of a found loved one that would never come. Cranes were transporting platforms of workers down into the pit, only to be brought back up hours later covered in dust and dirt, finding nothing.

A rescue worker spotted the badly bent “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign and worked his way over to it. Wading through the rocks and debris took some effort, and he made sure to look down with each step for secure footing. Reaching the sign, he bent over and lifted it off the rocks. A pile of dusty fabric lay beneath it and he crouched down for further inspection , running his fingertips across the material.

Black leather.

The man began shuffling rocks and rubble away from the material. With every handful, more and more what lay underneath revealed.

A hand…blonde hair with dark roots covered by thick coatings of ash…alabaster skin that was riddled in cuts, bruises and dirt.

“MIKE! I think we got a body over here!”, yelled the rescue worker, carefully moving the surrounding debris from the head of the body to get access to the jugular for a pulse to confirm his suspicions. He leaned in close to the body, his fingers finding the notch on the neck.

A faint pulse vibrated against the mans fingertips.

“WE GOT A LIVE ONE!!”.

The rescue worker screamed to the rest of the crew, and within moments the area where the bruised and bloodied man lay had become charged with EMS and firemen working in overdrive to free him. The man was naked except for the cover of the leather coat draped across his body. A strange heavy necklace around his neck seemed to have burnt its pattern into his chest and was cut away at the scene. With all the commotion and jostling around, the injured man started to waver in and out of consciousness. He was placed on the stretcher and fastened into the basket hovering underneath the rescue helicopter. As an EMS worker approached the basket to adjust the straps, the mans eyes began to flutter open. They were a crystalline blue and deep as oceans. The man fought to keep them open against the bright sunlight, and feeling the warmth on his skin, began to panic, thrashing his body against the restraints. He was subdued by two large male rescue workers and given an intramuscular injection of olanzapine to calm him. It’s like he’s afraid of the sunlight or something…weird, the one thought to himself. As they drug began to take effect, the men secured the straps one final time and leaned in to speak to the man over the deafening whirl of the helicopter blades.

“SIR, MY NAME IS TONY…WERE GONNA GET YOU TO UCLA MEDICAL CENTER AND GET YOU FIXED UP, OKAY?”.

The injured man tried to form words but every surface of his mouth was dry and chapped. He coughed.

“CAN YOU TELL ME YOUR NAME SIR?”.

He swallowed a few times, moisture returning to his mouth , the rough sandpaper texture of his tongue subsiding as he spoke. His voice was soft and raspy but it was clear.

“…Spike.”


Chapter End Notes:
I am extremely new to this so I probably don't have my categories correct or alot of other things for that matter so please please please comment, review, tell me what you like/dislike...just be gentle. More to come soon!



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