When by Denny

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This is my seasonal Spuffy admission. Not the story I originally planned to write (it was too long and unfinished), but here goes.

This is PG-13. Angsty and somewhat of a fairy tale in more ways than one:)… Of course, it’s Spike/Buffy. I reworked it from a story I wrote a year ago. I’m posting it in this one post. It’s season five and definitely AU.

WARNING: Character Death. 

When by Denny

“When did you fall in love with me?”

“I told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“I had a dream. I woke up. I was in love.”

“Oh, Spike—”

“That’s the truth.”

“You didn’t love me a little before the dream?”

“Maybe a smidgen—”

“So tell me? When did this miniscule love begin?” She gave him her best imitation of his smirk. She was lying on her stomach, her chin cupped in her hands with her elbows on his bare chest.

Scooting up in the bed, Spike settled his spine against the headboard and shut his eyes.

“Okay, if you won’t tell me about the love part at least tell me when you stopped hating me. I mean did it stop all of a sudden, just like that, poof…gone or was it…?”

“Never hated you, pet,” he interrupted her.

“You tried to kill me a hundred or so times because you liked me a lot?”

“Sworn enemies don’t hate.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “So our epic battles were the high jinks of a mutual admiration society?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, something like that.” She smacked her lips. “Come on, Spike. When did you fall in love with me?”

“You tell me first.” His fingers touched her forehead, brushing a few strands of hair aside.

“Maybe it hasn’t happened yet?” She brought his hand to her mouth and planted kisses in his palm.

“Oh, it’s happened,” his voice was low. “You love me so much you can’t get out of bed without grabbing my cock and begging me to bury it in your wet, hot pussy—”

“Eww, Spike. You’re disgusting,” groaned Buffy. “That’s not love.”

He stretched his arms above his head, his biceps coiling and uncoiling, knotting then relaxing as his hands latched onto the steel rods of the headboard. “That first time, when I was so disgusting, I figure that’s when you fell in love with me.” He grinned, nostrils flaring.

“No.” She moved her body over his and stared into his eyes. “That wasn’t it.”

Letting go of the headboard, he slid one hand under the rose-colored sheets. His fingertips gripped her ass, pressing her firmly against his sex. His other hand kneaded the muscles of her back.

“It was Willow,” she breathed. “The spell, when we were betrothed. You know—when—when we were engaged.”

“I know what betrothed means,” he whispered.

“We weren’t supposed to be in love—just getting married,” she smiled, teasingly. “But I loved you, and it scared the shit out of me.”

He pulled the sheet down, exposing their nude bodies. He then placed his hands under her arms and dragged her body over his own. His hips rising to meet her flesh as her thigh brushed over his erection.
Drawing her up higher, he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and then released it as he nuzzled his head between her breasts.

“The first night I wanted to kill you, really wanted to kill you, that’s when I knew I’d love you forever.” His lips blew cool air over her chest.

“You mean in that alley when I was sixteen?” She gasped as his lips sucked one nipple and than the other into his mouth. “Oh, Spike,” she groaned.

“No, not then,” his voice was heavy with emotion. “Happened when I walked into your backyard with a shotgun.”

She swallowed, savoring the feel of his mouth on her body. “Oh Spike,” she repeated, her mind resisting any other thoughts other than the sensation of his lips on her skin.

“Oh, Buffy.” He mocked her tone, but she shut her eyes and focused on the feel of his lips and mouth and tongue making love to her breasts.

Then Buffy suddenly opened her eyes. “Spike, how much longer do we have?”

“In this dream, you wake up first.”

“Can we start at the beginning?” she pleaded. “Tell me, please before we wake up.” A tear fell from her eye onto his cheek. “When did you fall in love with me?”

“Can’t remember,” he took his fingertip, touched the teardrop and brought his finger to his lips.


“Because I’ve always loved you.”


Conveniently, she was sitting on the steps of the back porch, her head bent down and her face buried in her hands so he couldn’t see her eyes. This was a good sign, he thought as he stepped around the bushes. He didn’t want to kill her in front of her mother and definitely not in front of Dawn. Her being outside and alone had to be a good thing.

He cocked the rifle with one hand, drew it up, aimed, and prepared to fire.

Buffy raised her head and looked at him. Tears were smeared over her face. He’d never seen her look so lost, so afraid. Still he knew that her tears had nothing to do with him. He could never cause her that kind of anguish. He could piss her off, but couldn’t make her cry.

“What do you want, Spike?”

“What’s wrong?” He dropped the barrel to his side.

She didn’t answer him and he sat next to her. Turning, he placed the rifle on the porch behind him. She didn’t ask him to leave. She didn’t say a word.

After a while, he felt her breathing become less ragged and the tears stopped, too.

Then she took a deep breath—and so did he.


Buffy was standing in the middle of Riverview Cemetery on the other side of a small mound of dirt, also known as the grave of Robert William Holzhauer. The man had died in 1949, father of and husband to, once buried, he’d stayed in the ground never to rise again. Spike read the name off of the headstone out of the corner of his eye. Spike’s other eye was on Buffy who appeared preoccupied with the vamps she always seemed to see lurking in the bushes. She didn’t pay much attention to graves that hadn’t been clawed open by the newly undead.

On the other hand, Spike enjoyed his little forays into the details carved on stone about the truly dead and buried. It passed the time as he waited for Buffy to start screeching at him. He could hear her now, ranting about how ridiculous it was for a neutered vampire to traipse behind her all night long claiming he was in love. Then she’d say something else hurtful.

“You can’t love me.” She said through gritted teeth.

“Can to. And you can’t stop me.” Spike hoped he looked casual and amused, instead of heartsick.

He stayed on the other side of Holzhauer’s grave as she twirled a stake in one hand and stomped the heel of her black high-heeled boots into the ground. Next thing she was swaying back and forth. Something was on her mind. If she kept swaying, she might fall on her face and forget she was pissed at him.

She suddenly stopped fidgeting and he saw that all too familiar and not so pleasant expression come over her face. He blew out a mouthful of air. There was always the chance she was thinking about someone else. Right?

“If you say one more word, I swear to God, I’ll dust you right here and now.”

Okay, maybe not.

Buffy had the sharp end of her stake pointed at his heart. Quickly, he removed the smug look from his face. He did have a choice here—either a stake through the heart or a fist smashing in his nose. He raised his hands in mock surrender, hoping for the latter.

Buffy abruptly spun around, stepping over Holzhauer’s grave as she headed toward the cemetery gates.

“Buffy. Watch out!”

Three vamps stumbled out from behind a row of bushes near Marian Hogan’s grave. Spike had been so busy worrying about the perils of his un-life he hadn’t sensed the vampires.

Two were large, round males, most likely former American football offensive linemen. They wore numbered blue and white jerseys and wobbled clumsily. With a roar, they dropped into an attack stance. Squat, no-necked, and balding, with hunched shoulders and obvious limps, they hobbled into formation and scurried past Buffy, heading directly for Spike.

“Fucking chauvinistic gits,” he cursed aloud.

As the duo stormed him, he kept an eye on the third vampire, a small female about Buffy’s height, but more noticeably muscled. She had a halo of dark curly hair and diamond-bright grey eyes. They glowed.

Spike cursed as a two-fisted blow landed on the back of his head, his attention rudely brought him back to his own battle. He spun, just in time to avoid being tackled by Moe.

Spike liked to give soon-to-be-dusted vamps nicknames. Made their imminent demise less impersonal.

He dropped to one knee, sweeping a leg through Larry’s crippled limps. As soon as he’d caught a glimpse of the girl, he’d named her Curly. So this piss-head was Larry by default. Moe lay on his back now, trying to get his meaty hands around Spike’s neck—a much more accessible target on Spike than on the no-neck twins.

Spike whirled to his right, forcing Moe to release the grasp he had on his throat. Ducking, Spike avoided Larry’s slowly thrown fists. He could see Buffy slugging it out with Curly. The vamp was good. She’d jumped four feet off the ground and connected a scissor-kick upside Buffy’s head, knocking the Slayer on her back and on top of Hogan’s grave.

Although vamped out, Curly didn’t look that old. She had to be around Buffy’s age when she was turned. Still, she was an experienced demon unlike the two barrel-chested blokes he was fighting. Perhaps, that’s why they’d come after him, leaving Curly to go one-on-one against the Slayer.

Spike was about to dust the tiresome twosome when he saw Buffy back on her feet. A second later, she was pitching her arm forward, hurling a stake on a beeline to Curly’s heart.

“Whoa,” said Spike, impressed. Curly had caught the stake between her palms the way he had done a century before against the Chinese Slayer. He watched as the dark-haired vamp flipped the weapon into her left hand and for a moment, time froze as Spike saw the opening the same instant as Curly. They both sensed the impending kill.

“Buffy,” screamed Spike, knocking Larry and Moe aside. He leaped over Curly in one motion and shoved her in the chest. Her eyes opened saucer wide as a bewildered expression took over her face. Spike paused. There was something in her eyes he couldn’t describe. Turning quickly, she fled into the bushes.

“Ouch,” he winced as a chubby fist clobbered him on the back of the head. He’d forgotten about his own little war again.

As he fought off Moe or Larry, he glimpsed Buffy, hands on her hips, head tilted to the side. Her face had that bloody kissable frown he loved spread all over it.

He kicked Moe to the ground and ducked as Larry hoisted his large body mid-air. The old high, low tackle—Spike shook his head. These two must have been dead since the forties if they were using this maneuver. Raising a bemused eyebrow, Spike weaved his way out of their paths and watched as his two assailants crashed into each other and fell like lead onto the ground, one on top of the other.

A second later, they were dust and Spike was waving the ash from his eyes.

Buffy gripped her stake and glared at Spike. She then nestled the weapon back into the pocket of her jacket.

“Well, thank you me lady,” he bowed.

“When will you learn to just kill ‘em, Spike?” she scolded. “I don’t believe in toying with vampires, you know.”

Spike snickered. “Who are you kidding, Slayer? You live to toy with a vamp—I just wish you’d toy with me sometimes.” He rubbed his hand suggestively over his stomach and inched lower as he gave her one of his most charming smiles.

“When will you learn, Spike.” She was twirling the stake in her hand. “You and me—never gonna happen.”

“We’ll see about that.” He said, watching her backside as she stormed out of the cemetery. He stayed in the same position until she was out of sight. Then he turned and headed for his crypt.

Something caught his attention and he paused, sniffing the air, taking in the scents of the cemetery. Curly was nearby. Spike clutched his chest. He remembered the sensation he’d felt when she’d come so close to killing Buffy. His demon had soared with hers.

He’d have to find Curly. But he’d had his fill of fighting for one night. He’d let this vamp live to bite another day. He’d come back for her later, after a good night’s rest.


“It’s hard. Being here, dreaming and not dreaming,” Buffy noticed there was no breeze on top of the steel mountain. “I just want to live without worry. Without fear.”

“Why are you so afraid, Buffy?”

“Is Spike okay?”

“He is for now.”

“But what about later? What will happen to him later?”

“He’ll be fine. He bounces back. He survives. That’s what he does.”

“What about me?” she asked. “Do I?”

“Do you what, dear?”


“Too soon to say.”


“Spike.” He heard a voice calling his name that almost sounded like Buffy. But it couldn’t be right. She would burst into his crypt, yelling ultimatums. Telling him how little time he had left on this earth. She’d claim that as soon as she decided he was dust, he was gone. Then there was the whole tirade on how she’d never love him. Ever. Yada, yada, yada.

“Spike.” He was hearing it again. That soft pleasant, fake Buffy voice. He groaned, rolling onto his side. It was difficult to move. Healing wasn’t happening as fast as he’d hoped since the pounding by Glory. The fucking insane She God had kicked his ass. Actually, she’d broken all his ribs, gouged a gapping hole in his chest, and slashed open his face. So in fact, she’d actually left his ass pretty much alone.

He struggled to get into an upright position. Didn’t like the idea of being found, barely alive, or barely un-dead, lying about in his bed like a real corpse.

“Oh—hey there, Spike,” said Buffy, as she dropped down the ladder onto the dirt floor on the lower level of his crypt.

“Slayer.” He tried to sound bored.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Lying about trying not to move,” he replied.

“Brought you some blood.” She stepped further into the room. He could see her better now, and she looked, of all things, nervous. She was fidgeting from foot to foot and couldn’t seem to keep her eyes from darting around the room. Then he saw the bag of blood in her hands.

“Thought you might be hungry.” Her voice was tight.

If this was Buffy being nice to him, it was killing her. He wondered what approach he should take. How should he respond to nice Buffy?

“Um—thanks.” He grimaced, not from pain, but because he sounded like a wanker. It wasn’t his day for quick-witted comebacks. Not tonight. He hurt too much.

He’d also been dreaming about her—every day, all day and all night. Now with her standing there in front of him, being kind to him, it reminded him how much he wanted her. To have her lips touch his again.

“Well, newsflash, Spike is speechless,” she joked, appearing a little more relaxed. Perhaps, him being quiet made it easier for her. He’d see how long he could keep it up.


“So, Spike, you think you can take me?”

Spike had to admit that Buffy and Dawn were the reason he was feeling better. The two sisters had taken it upon themselves to nurse him back to health after his bout with Glory. So when Buffy had asked him to join her on patrol that night, he’d said “Sure, okay”, without a second thought. Glory hadn’t shown her mug in weeks, and Buffy said Dawn would be fine spending the evening with Willow and Tara. The witches packed a powerful punch, she’d said. Besides, the vampires in town were getting too restless. She needed to put them back into the habit of fearing the Slayer and she needed a little workout, too.

“Yeah, Slayer, I can take you.”

He and Buffy had been in the Riverview Cemetery sparing for less than an hour when Spike sensed Curly. He hadn’t forgotten about the high-kicking vamp, but Glory had been the villain of the week for the past month.

“Buffy.” Spike said his voice barely a whisper.

“I sense her too.” Buffy was searching the bushes to the left and Spike had his eyes glued to the right. Then he noticed the tombstones. Robert William Holzhauer and Miriam Hogan were nearby—just like they’d been that night. Spike didn’t like this. Didn’t like it at all.

“Buffy, something odd, here, pet,” he warned. “We might want to ease back a bit, wait to see what she does first.”

“I’m good, Spike,” she said. “It’s just her, that’s all. I don’t feel any other vamps.”

Spike still didn’t like it.

He was only about six feet from Buffy when Curly dropped between them. She blocked his view of Buffy. He noticed right away she was taller and her shoulders were spread defiantly wide. Spike felt the desire driving through her. She wanted to kill, and the Slayer was her prize.

Time seemed to slow down, even though Spike knew it was moving incredibly fast. The Slayer adjusted her stance, taking only a second to maneuver into position. He stepped forward, lighting quick, his demon mask full on the instant Curly fell between him and Buffy. The entire exchange wouldn’t last longer than the blink of an eye. But it was longest blink he’d ever known.

Buffy’s stake appeared in her hand. Curly hadn’t thrown a punch or a kick or even looked at Spike directly. Her back faced him. Odd, he thought, she didn’t seem to be concerned about old Spike.

Buffy took a blow to the chest and reeled backwards as Spike grabbed Curly by the shoulders. He spun her around and slammed his fist into her ribcage. She didn’t flinch as he pulled back to launch another blow. She stepped to the side and took hold of his throat with both hands. She then swiveled her hips sharply, knocking him off-balance as she lifted and heaved his body at Buffy. He slammed into Buffy, pushing her back a step, but she recovered in an instant, stake still in hand. Buffy grabbed Spike by the lapel of his duster, shoved him out of her way and leaned forward, poised for the death strike. But Curly was quicker. Something about her was different, stronger. More powerful.

Then he saw a stake in Curly’s hand. Bloody hell, he thought he was the only vamp in town that carried a stake as a weapon of choice.

Curly thrust forward and Buffy hesitated for the briefest instant.

Spike stepped into the path of Curly’s stake, his body facing Buffy. He hadn’t had time to turn toward Curly. He felt the stake enter his back and strike his heart as he stared into Buffy’s eyes. She looked surprised, even sad, he thought, as his body crumpled to dust.


Buffy’s stake struck the female vampire as Spike’s dust swirled between them. He’d stepped in front of her in the nick of time, she guessed. He’d certainly given her the moment she needed to kill the black-haired girl that had fought so well against them.

“Spike.” she whispered, swallowing hard. She tried to catch her breath as she looked around, expecting to see someone. Something. But she was alone in the cemetery. No one else was there, only Buffy and the dust of Spike and the vampire that had killed him.

“Spike?” she said his name again. Her stomach began to hurt and her throat closed shut.

Loud coughs and gagging hiccups spewed out of her mouth and echoed in her eardrums. She looked over her shoulder—still, no one there. The muscles in her sternum constricted. The pain s was unbearable as the tightness in her gut pushed into her throat. She staggered away from the dust, wrapped her arms around her chest and squeezed her breasts so tightly they ached. She was choking. But who was screaming? Her arms suddenly felt too heavy and she dropped them at her sides. Her eyes felt too big for her head. She reached up to touch her face and felt the hot tears flowing over her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she was crying.

“Too fast,” she mumbled, her voice breaking. “It was too fast. How come they go so fast?” She was weeping loudly now, uncontrollably. Her mind flashed to her Mother’s dead body on the sofa in the living room on Revello Drive. Then her eyes fixed on the pile of dust disappearing into the dirt at her feet.

Why did this hurt so much? It was just Spike. A vampire with a chip in his head. A stupid vampire that she’d trusted with the lives of her mother and sister. A foolish vampire who had let himself be beaten nearly to death or more to death, as he liked to say, to keep her sister’s secret safe. A truly ignorant fool who chose to be dusted right in front of her. Just like that. He wasn’t even a man but he had chosen to do the manly thing.

The insane choking was going to kill her. But she couldn’t help it. He was gone. No foreshadowing, no hint, no idea when it was going to happen. There was no last smile, last joke or last anything for her to hold on to. She wanted to cry out, but her cries were trapped in her throat.

She turned, her feet barely touching the ground as ran away from the dust.


“When did you first fall in love with me?”

“The day you died.”

“See, told you, we were forever.”

“No, you told Drusilla, you were forever.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Been places, know things.”

“Sounds a little mystical to me,” Spike mumbled under his would-be breath. “You been hanging out with the witches too much lately?”

“No more than usual,” said Buffy, smiling innocently. “You know there are other powers in the universe besides witches.”

Spike jumped up onto his knees and pulled Buffy to him. “What are you up to Slayer?”

She smiled, touching his face softly. “Ever watched a feather falling from the sky, caught in the wind and nearly invisible to eye, moving as if drawn by fingertips across the sky, touching the clouds…you know, blowing in the wind?”

“Yeah, I know all about blowing in the wind. Kind of there right now.” The look of mischief in his eyes was magical as Buffy followed his gaze down to his erect cock pressing against her stomach.

“Oh, Spike.” She grinned. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His smirk deepened as his eyebrow rose. “Anyway, why else are we always in bed in your dreams?”

“My dreams, my choice.”

“Bloody hell, glad you have such good taste.” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to him and pressed his lips against hers. “Any other reason we’re here?”

“You’re always honest in bed.” Buffy planted kisses on his chin and throat. “Every caress, every kiss, every muscle in your body that moves against me and thrusts into my soul tells me the truth about how you feel.”

Spike stared at her, his expression filled with bewilderment. She laughed. “Speechless again, huh, Spike?”

She kissed him on the lips. “I’ve got to go, Willow ‘s here, in my head. I’m having a bad day, and she wants to talk to the little girl in me.”

“When will you come back?”

“Don’t know,” said Buffy. “But will you do something for me?

“Anything,” he murmured. “Everything.”

Taking his face in her hands, she looked deeply into his eyes. “Please don’t forget any of the things we’ve said to each other in my dreams.”


It was early evening on the night of the big battle. The sun had disappeared in the west leaving an orange streak of fading light, reflecting off the tombstones in Riverview Cemetery. Buffy walked slowly past the headstones toward the bench near the graves of Robert William Holzhauer and Miriam Hogan. Usually, she didn’t notice filled graves, but in the past few days, she’d felt drawn to the spot. It was where Spike had tried to warn her the night he’d died. He’d wanted to ease back—sensing something he didn’t like. But Buffy had said ‘she was good’, and that was all that had mattered.

Tonight it was the best place she could think of to be to review the plan for defeating Glory. She, Giles and the Scoobies had worked out every detail. It was a good plan. Still, she knew it would work better if Spike could be a part of it. But he was gone. She shoved her hands into her pockets and clutched the stake she found there in her fist as she strolled along the familiar path.

She reached the stone seat next to Marian Hogan’s grave and a young dark-haired girl emerged from the bushes. She wasn’t a vampire. But she wasn’t human either.

The girl pointed at Marian Hogan’s grave. “She made a deal with a fairy the day she was turned fifty years ago.” Her voice sounded older and grumpier than she looked.

Buffy stepped cautiously to her right, coming to a standstill next to Miriam Hogan’s tombstone.

“She did it to save her child and the man she loved.”

“Who’s she?” Buffy eyed the little girl’s movements carefully. She was standing near the dirt where Spike had fallen.

“Miriam Hogan,” she snarled. “Her lover was Robert or William as she liked to call him. He’s over there.” She nodded to Holzhauer’s grave. “He was the father of her child. She never stopped loving him even after she was turned.”

“Vampires can’t l—.” Buffy paused and let out a small ironic chuckle.

“Yes, just like your Spike loved you, she loved him. He was human, she was a vampire,” said the little girl, her voice a singsong cadence of annoying tones. “Too much romance and no common sense, if you ask me.”

“Who are you?”

“Brielle. I’m a fairy. Pretty powerful one, too, and we both love power,” said Brielle, glibly. “I’m the one that came up with this brilliant plan.”

“It was you Spike sensed. Right?”

“If he hadn’t been so busy worrying about you, he would have figured it out,” she blurted. “But no, he was blind to his own peril.”

“You’ve been playing us for a while.”

“No, dear. I’ve been playing you. Only you.”

“What kind of fairy are you?”

“Some call me the transition fairy, which is, oh so practical. I prefer Spirit Guide. It has a nicer ring, don’t you think?”

“Are you transitioning me now?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I could tell.”

She sighed, sounding exasperated. “Okay, you’re falling off a tower, moments away from your death. Normally I wouldn’t have paid any attention to you, being a slayer and all. You know, another dead slayer is what keeps the world on its axis, so to speak.” Laughing loudly, Brielle slapped her hands on her knees and rocked forward, apparently enjoying her own joke.

“But your vampire, Spike—Miriam spotted a kindred spirit in him, and figured out how to rid herself of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story I don’t feel like going into. But suffice to say, she made a deal when she was dying,” Brielle glanced at Miriam’s grave. “To stay near her man forever until she found another un-souled saint like herself. A demon that could love. If she found it, she had to kill it, and I’d set her free.”

“You’re not a good fairy, are you?”

“Have my good days and have my bad,” Brielle explained. “Most important thing about this mess is that I found you.”


“Yeah, you’ve been the most fun I’ve had in eons, and I mean, literally, eons.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not meant for you to understand, Buffy,” said Brielle. “It’s meant for you to suffer through. This has been nothing more than a lesson in dealing with loss and wasted time.”

“Wasted time?” Buffy could feel herself falling and had to think fast. “You say you’re powerful, so you must think you’re pretty smart, too.”

“Among the brightest in the galaxy or so I’ve been told.”

“Not that bright.”

“How so?”

“You’ve spent all this time messing with my life, right?” Buffy stared at Brielle, who was sitting on the bench, her legs swinging gently back and forth. “This is all about me, right?”

“True,” she answered.

Buffy swallowed and looked into the little girl’s eyes. “Can you bring him back?”

“Who? Spike? Maybe,” she frowned. “Why do you want him back?”

“I just do.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So you could continue to mess with me.”

The little girl narrowed her eyes at Buffy.

“Do what you will to me. Send me to hell, whatever. Just let him be alive. Make certain my friends and my sister defeat Glory, and that they are safe. And bring Spike back.”

“Wait a minute. We started with Spike, now we’ve got a litany of requests, here.” The little girl jumped up from the bench and started pacing in front of Buffy.

“And my mother, too.”

“Oh, no. Can’t do a thing about your mom. Naturally dead.” She tapped her chin with her finger thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe this could be good. Let me see. ”

Brielle clapped her hands together and giggled. “I’ve got it!” She raised her hand to her mouth and rubbed it across her lips. “I’m going to take away your ability to love.”

“Okay.” Buffy said slowly, thinking. Hadn’t Brielle said she was dying? Would she need love if she were dead? Should she even believe Brielle? Her chest burned hot all of a sudden and somewhere deep inside her soul, Buffy realized the little girl fairy was telling the truth. She was powerful and greedy and mean. “No, that’s too much. Just take away my memories of loving Spike.”

“So you admit you love him.”

“No. I mean yeah, we were falling in love,” she whispered. “But, it hadn’t happened completely. Not yet. It was in the process of happening. But we’ll never know how it would have turned out, will we? Since I’m about to be dead.”

A breeze brushed against Buffy’s cheek and the sensation of falling grew stronger. She was moving through currents of wind and streams of light. “Is this a dream?” she asked Brielle.

“Not exactly. It’s one of your choices. You’re almost home, now. Saved the world, again. Saved your sister and your friends. And your vampire, Spike, he’s back.”

“Just like that,” said Buffy.

“Just like that.”

“Got it,” Buffy paused. “How much longer until I hit the ground?”

“Not long.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Won’t feel a thing.”

“One last question.” Buffy couldn’t see Brielle and reached out frantically trying to touch the wind. But she was falling too fast. Still, she had to know. “Will I see him again?”



The End


Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/153738.html