full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
Shadows of a Brighter Day by Eowyn315
 
Forever
 
<<     >>
 
Chapter 7: Forever

There was exactly one moment in his life that was worse.

Watching Buffy plummet off Glory's tower, helpless to do anything to save her, Spike had never felt so sick with despair. He didn't think anything would ever make him feel like that again.

Willow's phone call came close.

He didn’t even know how she’d found him – magic, no doubt. Just dumb luck that he had been staying in a hotel with a phone that day, instead of an abandoned building or his blacked-out car. He didn’t steal money anymore, not with the soul, and it wasn’t like he could hold down a real job for any length of time. He played poker, and won some, but humans tended to look unfavorably on kittens as currency. Money was scarce, and he could rarely afford a proper bed to sleep in. He’d lived in worse places in his hundred and twenty-odd years, so he usually didn’t mind the dirty, cramped quarters where he ended up laying his head. But the night before, he’d had a nasty run-in with a Gravlok demon that had broken most of his ribs and dislocated one shoulder, and he didn’t think he could bear the stiff neck he’d get from sleeping in the backseat of his old Pontiac GTO.

That was how he had found himself passed out on the queen-sized bed, only to be awakened a few hours later wondering who could possibly be calling for Mr. George C. Pratt. (He’d long ago given up using any variation on the names Spike or William when checking into hotels. Made it easier to hide.)

He had lain on that bed for hours, sobbing until there was no more water left in his body. Cursing the unfairness of the universe, railing against the Powers That Be for rewarding their noblest warrior with death. With worse than death – with a disease that would ravage her body before it killed her.

But once he’d cried out all the anger and grief and guilt, he realized something. She wasn’t dead yet. And that was why Willow had called.

“She thought I’d wanna see you again, before…” Spike trailed off now, staring down at his hands, unable to meet her eyes, afraid of losing control. If he started to cry again, this time he might never stop.

Buffy reached out and covered his hands with hers. “I’ve still got a long time. It’s – it’s the early stages yet.”

He knew she was lying. Willow had told him she’d already been through radiation therapy and three rounds of chemo, and still the cancer was spreading, from her lungs to her chest wall and her lymph nodes, and starting on the blood vessels leading to her heart. Cancer cells, it turned out, benefited from the same slayer healing as the rest of her, and regenerated themselves almost as soon as they’d been irradiated.

He’d seen the picture of her, on the mantle next to Dawn’s wedding photo, with the scarf wrapped around her head to hide the loss of her hair, just as her mother had done before her. She’d never tell him, but he knew that if he’d come just a month earlier, he’d have seen her struggling to breathe, until she was required to have surgery to drain off a collection of fluid on her lung. Pleural something or other, Willow had called it.

Fortunately, that was one of the only complications she’d had. She was more susceptible to infections, just like any cancer patient, but her slayer healing powers had generally taken care of anything that came up. It didn’t really matter, in the end. The cancer itself was more than enough to kill her.

Spike studied her carefully. Outwardly, she wasn’t showing any real symptoms – Willow had called it “one of the better phases,” when she was in between chemo treatments, so she wasn’t worn down or nauseous all the time, and her condition was relatively stabilized. But Willow had also mentioned that this might be one of the last “better phases” she had.

Spike swallowed hard. “Buffy…”

She smiled at him, putting on the brave face he knew so well. But after their last year together, Spike also knew what she concealed behind the mask, and that nearly broke his heart.

“I’m not afraid to die,” Buffy told him. “I’m kind of unique in having experienced it before.”

A painful sob escaped him, and he pulled her onto his lap, holding her close, his forehead pressed against hers. Her fingers threaded gently through his curls, and she made soft, soothing noises against his cheek, comforting him, even though he felt like he should be comforting her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, no tears between them, just an ocean of sadness.

Finally, Buffy drew in a deep breath and lifted her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve – I should’ve told you right away last night, instead of letting you…”

“Letting me what, pet? Love you?”

Buffy closed her eyes tightly for a moment before looking at him. “Spike… last night was – like a dream. But…” – and she could feel her heart breaking as she said it, but she had to let him go – “…you don’t have to stay. I don’t expect – it’s not fair to you, the guy who’s gonna be young and beautiful forever, having to stick around and watch me die.”

He took her hand in his and brought it up to kiss her palm. “No place else for me to be, love, ’cept with you. Knew the score last night… wouldn’ta done any different if you’d said something.”

Buffy’s hand slipped out of his, her fingers tracing the curves of his face as though memorizing them by touch. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I thought… when I first heard the diagnosis, I wanted to – I almost asked Will to find you. But I thought – what could I give you, you know? It was too late…”

“Not too late, pet,” Spike soothed, cradling her closer. “’S just… I’m sorry. Sorry it took this to get me here.”

“Mommy!” Joy said insistently. Having grown tired of being ignored, she chose that moment to try to crawl into Buffy’s lap, breaking the moment and prompting Spike to ask, “What’ll happen to the little bit?”

“Dawn’ll take her,” Buffy replied, sliding back to her own chair and lifting Joy onto her lap.

“Are you gonna be my daddy?” the little girl asked, turning her wide, curious eyes on Spike. “I never had a daddy. Mommy said he was far away.” She tilted her head to the side, examining him. “Is it you? Did you come back?”

Spike noticed she spoke with a warped North London accent, no doubt polluted by her mother’s Valley-speak. Then, suddenly, it hit him: Buffy’s blonde-haired, blue-eyed child with the British accent.

He almost cried.

“Yeah,” Buffy whispered, her voice thick with tears. “He did.”

Joy slid down from her perch and crawled into Spike’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck with easy acceptance. Spike’s eyes locked with Buffy’s as he embraced the small child.

“You know neither one of us is a natural blond, right?” he asked her, tousling Joy’s hair.

Buffy smiled sheepishly. “I know, but… that was how I remembered you, so I…” She shrugged.

Spike returned her smile. “Gonna be a stunner when she grows up,” he remarked, as Joy made herself comfortable on his lap. “Real heartbreaker.”

“Are you kidding?” Buffy teased. “With you as a father? She’ll never be allowed to date!”

“What are you talking about?” Spike asked indignantly.

“Oh, come on. I saw how you were with Dawn.”

“Hey, but that pillock was actually a vampire,” he defended himself, “and you were the one who –”

“Don’t try to deny it. You’re gonna be super-overprotective dad every time she brings a boy home. Probably go all fangy just to scare them away.”

Spike raised his eyebrows. “Oh, and you’re not overprotective? If she’s anything like you, she’ll be sneakin’ out her window by fifteen, love, ’cept you’ll be standing underneath waiting for…” Buffy’s face clouded over, and he rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. “God, I’m sorry, pet.”

“Don’t be,” she soothed him. “I told you, I’m not afraid to die.”

Spike looked down to where he was scuffing his bare toe against the kitchen floor. “There are… ways, to – to…”

“I don’t want to be turned,” Buffy said, in a quiet, firm voice.

His head snapped up. “I didn’t – I meant… healing spells, or – or we could –”

She cut him off with a shake of her head. “Spike. I’ve had this conversation already, several times, with Will, and Giles… and I don’t want that. I’ve already lived much longer than I should have, died twice as many times as most people… I just want… this time, I don’t need to fight it.”

It’s not enough time! he wanted to shout, but he bit his lip and nodded. It was her life, after all, her choice.

“I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not running away from some prophecy.” Buffy’s mouth quirked into a small, wry grin. “Although, when you think about it, a doctor’s prognosis sounds an awful lot like a prophecy.”

Spike clenched his jaw. It was so mundane, so meaningless. She who had given her life to save the world – twice – would, in the end, have it snatched away for nothing.

“I’m not… saying I give up, either. But I don’t know how much time is left, and I don’t want to spend it all looking for some miracle cure, when the important things are right here.” She reached out to run a hand through Joy’s hair, before glancing up to meet his eyes.

“Spike? Will you – will you stay?”

“Forever,” Spike whispered.

For as long as they had.

*****

A/N: Well, this is the end of the line for our heroes. I am planning an epilogue (because *someone* ought to get a happy ending), but I'm giving you all fair warning - it won't be Spuffy. But I promise not to kill anyone. :)
 
<<     >>