Spike was on the back porch smoking a cigarette when Buffy found him. “Spike?” Buffy asked, cautiously.
“Slayer,” Spike said, no emotion in his voice.
She sat next to him. “I’m sorry,” she said, quietly.
“’S okay. You were right,” Spike said, flinging his cigarette to the side.
Buffy got up and went to the middle of the yard, so he couldn’t see her tears. “Doesn’t matter. I was too harsh. I’m not carrying you, and that helps a lot.”
Spike could hear the tears in her voice and walked toward her. “Buffy?” He asked, softly.
When Buffy turned and he saw her eyes. He frowned and wiped her tears. Buffy allowed all her tears to flow as she hugged him. Spike was shocked but held her close. “Shhh.”
“Spike, I don’t wanna bury anyone else. I think I made a mistake too,” she whimpered.
“No you didn’t. Our power comes within us, not shadow men. I trust you,” Spike said, rocking her.
“I trust you,” Buffy whispered. “My legs aren’t gunna support me anymore.”
Spike scooped her up and carried her inside. He took her upstairs and she was asleep by the time she was in bed. He tried to unlatched her arms from his neck, but she whimpered.
“Pet, come on,” Spike said, sitting next to her.
“Stay,” she whispered. “Please.”
Spike took off his boots and shrugged his duster off. He spooned behind her back and slept.
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