full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
 
Three Days
 
   >>
 
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything is Mr. Whedon’s. Thank you to slaymesoftly for all the beta help!
 
“I’m off then.”
 
Angel looked up from his desk and frowned. There was Spike, with a small duffel over one shoulder. Probably full of black t-shirts, for something new and different, Angel thought, mentally rolling his eyes. Spike was leaving for Europe, off to seek out Buffy. Angel could have offered him use of the Wolfram and Hart private jet. But with the sting of losing the battle over the fake Cup of Perpetual Torment still on his mind, combined with the sting of the possibility, however remote, that Buffy would actually choose a relationship with Spike, he felt less than generous. Let him take the slow boat to France. Maybe Angel would get lucky and someone would accidentally dust Spike or something.
 
But for now, Angel just sighed and said, “Well, have a good trip. Give my best to Buffy and the rest. “ Then he turned back to his paperwork.
 
“Don’t get all mushy on me, Peaches,” Spike said with his characteristic smirk, as he turned and walked out.
 
Heading down to the garage, he deliberately picked the Viper to drive to the docks. He would leave it there – someone would pick it up. Or someone would steal it, and piss Angel off even more. Either way – Spike was out of there.
 
He stopped on the way to stock up on blood and some icepacks to keep it fresh until he got onto the boat and could find a fridge to stash it in. It would be about a week on the ship, so he would be rationing it. But it was either that or resort to rats, and he had to draw the line somewhere. Better to get to Rome a bit hungry than with rat breath.
 
He made his way onto the ship and found his cabin. He had bribed the steward to let him on early, rather than have to dash through the morning sun, smoking and raising suspicions. He dumped his bag, stowed the blood in the mini-fridge, kicked off his boots, and lay back on the small bunk. He closed his eyes and thought of her. Blonde hair rippling when she turned. Those green eyes. That smile. The doubting little bit inside him kept nagging: What if she’s moved on? What if she’s angry at me for not contacting her sooner? What if…
 
Ah, sod it. Even if she throws me out on my arse, it will be better than nothing. Just to see her again. To hear her voice... With these thoughts in his head, he drifted off to sleep.
 
*************
 
Rome. It had been ages. After two weeks of traveling, by boat, by night train, and by stolen car, he was here. He looked at the slip of paper he had managed to steal from Angel’s desk – the address of her apartment. It was getting late, going on 10 p.m., but he had to see her. If his heart was still beating the thumping would have been deafening as he climbed the stairs to her apartment. Taking a deep, if unneeded, breath, he knocked on the door.
 
The door opened to reveal Dawn standing there. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “Spike?” she said, disbelieving. “Is it you?”
 
“It’s me, Nibblet,” he replied. He gave her a warm smile, but he sensed something was wrong. Her eyes were red rimmed with circles under them. She looked pale and forlorn. She hadn’t looked like that since that summer after Buffy… died. He still had trouble remembering those times. Now the thrill of seeing Dawn again was tinged with an undercurrent of foreboding. Something was definitely wrong.
 
“How..? Where did you come from?” Dawn was nearly speechless.
 
“Long story, pet,” Spike responded. “But I’m back, and the second I could, I came to see you and your sister. Is..is she here?”
 
A tear trickled down Dawn’s cheek as she found her voice again. “Spike… Buffy died three days ago.”
 
Spike couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “What?” he breathed, when he finally found his voice. “How?”
 
Dawn stepped back a bit. “C... come in, Spike,” she said in a broken voice.
 
Spike entered the apartment and followed Dawn into the living room. Xander, Willow, and Giles were there, their heads whipping around in astonishment at the newcomer. The scene was oddly familiar. He remembered similar scenes from the Magic Shop during that long, awful summer without Buffy. The grief was etched on their faces as before. The faces were older, and somehow more resigned, but that same loss was written on all of them.
 
Xander found his voice first. “Where the hell did you spring from?” he growled. He sounded enraged, as if Spike was personally responsible for this latest tragedy.
 
Spike felt shellshocked, bewildered. He started to explain, “About three weeks after the battle, I popped out of that amulet in Angel’s office. I was a ghost for months – couldn’t touch anything, couldn’t leave LA. Just got my body back about three weeks ago.”
 
“And you couldn’t call?” Dawn barked. She launched herself at Spike, pummeling him with her fists and sobbing. “You could have saved her! She needed you and you weren’t there for her, you bastard!” She kept yelling incoherent things and pounding on his chest until Willow got up, turned her around and put her arms around the sobbing girl.
 
Spike stared around with wide, confused eyes. “Would somebody please tell me what the bloody hell happened?” He clenched his fists in an effort to keep control.
 
Giles stood up, polishing his glasses while he spoke quietly. “Buffy committed suicide three days ago.” Spike stared in disbelief as Giles continued, “Dawn came home from school for the weekend and found her in the tub with her wrists slashed.”
 
Spike staggered to the nearest chair and fell into it, shaking his head slowly. “But… but why?” he asked, his voice cracking.
 
Willow disentangled herself from Dawn and wordlessly walked over to a desk, where she picked up a letter. Silently, she handed it so Spike, who began to read, trying to absorb what had been written.
 
To my friends:
 
I can’t bear it anymore. I can’t stand living this way anymore. The loneliness never stops, it never gets any less. I know you all told me to get over Spike. I know you have all moved on, but I can’t. I’ve tried to pretend I’m ok, but I can’t anymore. I love him. I loved him for longer than I could admit to anyone, including myself. Every night I see him burning, hear his last words. He died not believing that I loved him. I waited too long. Now it’s too late – he’s gone, and I’m alone. I can’t love anymore. I can’t fight anymore. I just want to stop. I want to go where he is. I’m sorry.
 
Buffy
 
Spike kept shaking his head over and over. “I had no idea,” he whispered.
 
Xander found his voice again. “Congratulations. You managed to kill your third slayer. How does it feel, Spike?” he snapped. His voice was bitter and broken.
 
Spike broke down completely then. The letter fluttered to the floor as he put his hands over his face and wept. He pulled at his hair and sobbed, not caring who was in the room, or what they thought.
 
I wanted to surprise her. I should have called, written, something. His mind kept looping through these thoughts until he felt a small hand on his shoulder. He looked up through his tears. Dawn knelt down next to him and put her arms around him. He hugged her back and they wept together for long minutes.
 
Eventually, they ran out of tears. Dawn got up to go to the bathroom. Spike looked around at Willow’s stricken grief, Xander’s anger, and Giles’ exhausted, aged eyes. “What will you do now?” he asked Giles.
 
Willow spoke up, “We’re not going to bring her back, if that’s what you’re asking.” He had quietly wondered about that. “She clearly does not want to be here,” Willow added bitterly.
 
Giles sighed, “We’ve got the Slayers to train. Dawn will be under my guardianship. I guess we’ll just… go on. “
 
Spike had nothing to say. His mind kept repeating over and over Buffy… dead? Killed herself? Buffy..? He could not understand. She had really loved him and mourned him. He had missed her by days. Days. If that wanker Angel had let him use the jet he would have been here, holding her two weeks ago. He picked the note up from the floor and ran his eyes over and over the words, as if some hidden meaning would appear explaining all this.
 
Dawn reentered the room. “Spike,” she said quietly. He turned miserable eyes toward her. “I’d like you to go. It’s just… too much right now.”
 
Spike nodded, understanding. He got up and slowly walked toward the door. His usual swagger was gone – he practically stumbled over his own feet as he numbly made his way to the door. He paused at the door and turned around. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry….” His eyes were pleading as he looked at Dawn, but she just buried her head in Xander’s shoulder while he patted her back awkwardly.
 
Spike made his way down the stairs slowly, paying no attention to where he was going. As he was about to step out into the street, he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see Giles coming down the stairs. “What is it, Rupert?” Spike asked wearily.
 
“I feel like you deserve more of an explanation,” said Giles. Giles held the door open for Spike to exit the building. They walked in silence for a block or two until they came upon a bench in a small square. The night was cool and dark, with no moon. Spike sat down heavily and stared into the night.
 
Giles sat down next to him and, staring at his shoes, began to speak. “After Sunnydale, we were all in shock I guess. We went to Angel’s hotel in LA, to get all the injured tended to and rest for a few days. Xander was…” Giles paused, not sure how much Spike knew. “Anya was killed by the Bringers.” Spike looked up sharply.
 
“She was quite a girl.” He resumed staring into the night. “Harris must have been a mess.”
 
Giles nodded and continued, “He was. We all were. So many girls killed, wounded. Buffy didn’t speak to nearly anyone for two or three days. Even Angel couldn’t get more than single syllables from her. When I brought up the idea of going to Europe, she went along with it. I should have seen, even then, that she was hurting. We had a memorial service for the ones we lost. She insisted your name be on the list as well. “
 
Spike closed his eyes. He never had a proper funeral, the first time he died. Buffy had given him that.
 
He almost didn’t hear Giles as he went on, “We were all so busy when we got back. Rounding up the new slayers, finding somewhere to house them, training them. Buffy was going through the motions again, like she did after she was brought back.” Spike noticed how they still, two years and more later, could not say that she died. It probably meant something, but he didn’t know what.
 
“I tried talking to her. We all did. She finally admitted one day to us that she still missed you, and thought about you every day. Dawn almost understood, I think. Willow was sympathetic, but didn’t realize how deeply Buffy felt. Xander, as usual, ran his mouth off about how he didn’t understand how she could mourn for someone who’d already been dead for a hundred years.” Spike winced slightly. Harris never did know when to shut his mouth.
 
Giles took a deep breath, “I think, after that, she just stopped talking about it. She put on her ‘I’m fine’ mask and went to work. Slaying, teaching slayers, and then going home. Xander went off on some trips to find new slayers. Willow was caught up with Kennedy and working on honing her magic skills with the Coven in Devonshire. Dawn went off to boarding school. And Buffy just… existed. She interacted just enough to keep us all off her back, it seems in retrospect. But I guess she wasn’t fine after all,” Giles concluded lamely.
 
The two men sat in silence for a while. Finally Spike spoke up, “I didn’t think she would really care Rupert.” Giles looked at the vampire, who was still speaking out to the night. “I wanted to see her the second I popped out of that cursed amulet. But Angel said she was fine, she had moved on. And I was so worried about being rejected that I let myself believe it for a long time.” He was clearly struggling for control as he spoke. “I couldn’t contact her when I was a ghost, and God knows the great poof wouldn’t call her on my behalf. But I should have done something.”
 
“You came as soon as you could,” Giles interrupted.
 
“Too little, too late,” sighed Spike. He dropped his head into his hands for a minute. Then he stood up.
 
“Where are you going?“ asked Giles. Spike looked down, noticing that he still had Buffy’s final note crumpled in his hand. He opened it and read it through again. Then he folded it and stuck it in his pocket.
 
“I’m going back to LA. There’s nothing for me here.”
 
Giles nodded. He rose as well. “I should get back to the others. I’m sorry, Spike. I know how you felt about her. I never wanted to accept it, but deep down, I knew you loved her. And I’m sorry this had to happen.“ Giles stood for a moment, looking at Spike, wondering what else he could say. Then Spike made it easy for him by turning and walking off into the night.

**************
 
Angel hung up the phone and stretched. The endless calls from demons of every stripe looking for legal advice were exhausting. He flipped through his calendar, looking for his next appointment. He noted the date. Spike had been gone for three and a half weeks now. He didn’t really expect to hear anything from the blond menace. Still, he thought that at least he would have heard something through the grapevine if Spike and Buffy had been reunited. Maybe Spike chickened out, he thought hopefully. Angel knew that there was no chance that Buffy would ever come back into his life, or unlife. But the thought of her with Spike just made him cringe. She could do better than his rebellious grandchilde any day.
 
He looked up as a noise erupted in the hallway. Over Harmony’s protests of “He said he didn’t want to be disturbed!” the door banged open, and in walked Spike.
 
Angel nearly gasped. Spike looked as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. His normally pale skin seemed devoid of even the slightest color. His eyes were red, his hair disheveled, and his face grim. He secretly was pleased: Buffy had rejected Spike! Spike seemed to be taking it as poorly as ever.
 
“Harmony, it’s ok,” Angel said. Harmony shrugged, flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and left, closing the door. Turning to Spike he said, “So, the Slayer threw your sorry ass out already? Has she already found someone else?”
 
“She’s dead, you pillock.”
 
The words came out of Spike’s lips in a clenched, desperate growl. Angel stopped dead in his tracks and stared. “Dead? She’s dead? How? Who killed her?”
 
“We did,” Spike’s voice was a mixture of anguish and fury. “You and me, we killed her.”
 
Angel shook his head in confusion and disbelief as Spike fished a much folded piece of paper out of his pocket and tossed it on the desk. He unfolded it and started reading, unable to fathom what the words meant.
 
Spike watched as Angel’s eyes widened at Buffy’s last words. “She slashed her wrists, Angel!” Angel looked up to see Spike, fists clenched, jaw tense, and eyes bright with pain. “I let you convince me that I should stay out of her life. I didn’t find a way to tell her I was here. She thought I had left her.” His voice was rising to a shout, “I promised never to leave her! I wasn’t going to be like you, and her father, and Captain Cardboard and the rest. I was never going to leave her.” He angrily kicked at a chair and sent it flying across the room.
 
Angel was stunned. Buffy had been in love with Spike. She had said that Spike was in her heart, but Angel never suspected how deeply she felt. He read the note again – had he ever really known the girl? He could not reconcile the Buffy he knew with the Buffy who had written this note.
 
Spike continued to pace and rage, “You couldn’t tell her I was here, could you?” Angel watched warily as Spike stormed around the room. “You couldn’t let go of your jealousy for five minutes just to see what she wanted for a change? No, you always knew what was best for her. See how well that turned out!”
 
Angel finally found his voice, “Spike… Will… I had no idea. I thought she was alright. I didn’t think….”
 
“You never do, Angel.” Spike’s voice had dropped again. He stood, staring at the floor. It was like he had deflated. He looked so lost, so vulnerable. He looked up at Angel again. Angel could barely stand the agony in the younger vampire’s eyes.
 
“Spike, I’m… I’m so sorry,” he stammered. Angel didn’t know what to say. Tears started to well up in his eyes as it sunk in. Buffy was gone. He was at least partly responsible.
 
Spike turned toward the windows. The necro-tempered glass covered an expansive view of the city. But the city was empty to him. He had mentally prepared to be rejected by her. To lose her completely was an unfathomably cruel fate. He wanted out.
 
“Goodbye, Angel,” he said softly. Then Spike sprung at the windows with all his vampire strength. Angel doveinto the shadow behind his desk as the window shattered and Spike went sailing out. Spike stretched his arms wide and closed his eyes. As he fell he could feel the burning, just like in the Hellmouth. Then with a last cry, he scattered into dust on the wind.
 
TBC
 
 
   >>