Author:
C l a d d a u g h K i t t e nRating:
PG-13Summary: Spike returns to Sunnydale in search of Dru and comes upon the Slayer.
Spike walked listlessly through the streets of Sunnydale. He was on edge tonight, his vampiric senses running full out.
Something was off, and it was making him extremely edgy. Spike paused at the entrance of the cemetary to light up his cigarette, and slipped inside, hoping to find something to eat or kill to calm his nerves.
As he walked through the rows of graves, Spike picked up the stench of alcohol. Judging from the intensity of the smell, it was a lot. Pausing, Spike allowed his instincts to take over.
They pointed him towards a large patch of grass, populated by a single tree. Spike walked silently towards the grass, wondering who or what the hell was in the cemetary.
When he reached the grass, he heard a small sniff, punctuated by the clink of a bottle.
Peering carefully around in the shadows, Spike finally located the noise, and stared in shock.
It was the Slayer. She was curled up on the grass, the remains of a large bottle of whisky, drained, laying beside her.
She was crying. Her makeup was streaked by tears, her hair shadowing her face. She was wearing a thin white sweater and black stretch pants, streaked with dirt and ashes.
Quietly composing himself, Spike knelt and layed a hand on her shoulder.
Buffy jumped at the contact, her eyes looking up to meet his light blue ones. As she recognized him, she let her head rest on her chest.
"Go on, Spike. You may as well kill me now. It's over anyways." she mumbled, more tears spilling down her cheeks.
"Slayer, what are you talking about?" he asked, clearly confused.
Her green eyes met his, locked in her gaze, Spike gasped slightly as he realized the meaning of her words.
"So it's true." he stated bluntly, staring at her in disbelief.
He'd heard of this happening. A prophecy perhaps, or the hushed voices that often accompanied images of the Slayer in his dreams.
"How?"
"They killed him. And then they injected me with something - I found out what it was today. Aids. It's terminal, Spike. They gave me a year to live." She whispered, curling herself into a ball.
"Slayer, don't-" Spike was cut off abruptly as Buffy slapped him, hard.
"Don't what? don't feel bad because I'm going to die in 12 months? Don't cry because when my time's up, I'll be little more than a skeleton in a hospital? What Spike?" She screamed.
"I'm sorry -I..I didn't know," he answered briefly, rubbing his jaw.
"No..of course you didn't. Nobody does." she whispered softly, tears beginning to streak down her cheeks again.
Silently, Spike knelt and gathered her in his arms, holding her face to his chest. He wanted to know who exactly "they" were. But now wasn't the time to ask. Pulling her closer, Spike rubbed reassuring patterns on her back as she cried. After a few minutes, Buffy sniffled and looked up at the vampire.
"Spike, not that I care, but why are you doing this?" she asked, puzzled.
Spike's only response was to meet her reddened eyes with his and pull her to her feet.
"Come on, Slayer, we need to clean you up,"
"What if I don't want to?"
"Slayer, look at yourself. You've spent the past few hours drinking and crying, you're a mess, and I'm willing to bet you have no where to go. You're coming with me." Spike answered firmly, as he led her out of the cemetary and down the darkened street.