I don't own the characters in this fanfic, Joss Whedon et al do. I only own the situation I put them in, and the words I put into their adorable little mouths!
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Angel stood in front of the grave.
He stepped forward and placed the purple flower on her grave. He didn’t know what its name was but he knew the moment he saw it as he passed the flower shop on the way to her grave that it was right. It was her. Beautiful, yet strong. Dark and bewitching. A blood-stained tear slid slowly down his face and dropped onto the flower he was kneeling before, staining a petal dark magenta, in contrast to the surrounding deep blue-purple.
“I’m so sorry I failed you, Buffy. I should have protected you, and instead I let them get you. I didn’t take you far enough away.”
He stood up, and stared fixedly at the tombstone. He hadn’t even managed to get her real name put on it. It bore the name of the fake identity she’d assumed, at his insistence. It simply said “Carolynn, died in tragic accident, 1981-2002.”
“What did I do to you Buffy? You had to die alone, away from all your friends and family, and now I can’t even tell them you’re dead because I’m too afraid to face them. To admit to them that I’m the reason you ran away, and that they never saw you again because I was too afraid of losing you to them. I wanted you with me so badly, I ignored the pain you were feeling at being so isolated, and the loneliness you felt.”
“Touching. You really think she can hear you, mate? Believe me, she’s well out of here, off to heaven, and you won’t ever see her again.”
Angel ignored the mocking tone of the one who was addressing him. “I’m tired, Spike. She was the only thing that made life worth living for me, and I killed her. Not directly, of course, but I should have seen how distracted she was getting. She needed those friends of hers more than she admitted, more than I thought. And I made her give them up. Now she’s gone, and I *really* don’t care any more.”
“What *is* it about you? You meet these wonderful girls, and instead of worshipping the ground they walk on, and spending every second of the day thanking whoever let you meet them, you screw them up. You drive them insane, or you ruin their lives. And even after you hurt them so badly, they *still* love you. You poisoned them, Angel, all three of them. Probably more. And why is it that *I* become obsessed with your leftovers? Why do I get stuck with the messes you run away from? Like Dru. And Gina. She didn’t deserve you either. You made her beg to die, and then you turned her, and then you left her. I cleaned her up for you, too. She begged me to kill her, d’you know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
“Because you *left* her. Not because she hated being a vampire, or wanted to die, but because *you* rejected her. Even after all you did to all of them, they still loved you. And I loved them. Every one of you mistakes has intrigued me. Even her.” He indicated the gravestone. Angel stared at him in astonishment.
“*You* loved Buffy?”
“I should have seen it coming. It happened with all the others you left behind. I should have known it would happen with her too. She was amazing. She loved you when she knew you were a vampire, and she still loved you, even after you showed her what a monster you truly were. She would’ve done anything to get you back and when she decided she couldn’t wait anymore I could see it wouldn’t take long before she took her own life. That’s how much she loved you. When you came back from Hell, do you know who did it? Who brought you back?”
Angel shrugged; he’d never questioned Buffy about that, simply assuming it was Giles or Willow’s doing.
“It was me.”
Angel stared at Spike in mute disbelief. Finally he spoke. “*You*?” he choked out, incredulously. “Why?”
“Because she loved you, and I’d begun to love her, and I could see she needed you. You told me once love is about sacrifice. I seem to recall it was one of your favourite sayings, back then. Well, I loved her, and I figured I couldn’t make her happy myself, so I had to at least give her what would. That was you. Her happiness was the most important thing to me.”
Angel accepted the news of Spike’s evidently strong affection for his girlfriend calmly. He’d finally realised he’d lived too long to waste time on hatred.
“Thank-you,” he said, simply.
Spike searched Angel’s face, confused. “Er, mate, this is the time when you growl and say ‘I’m gonna kill you.’”
Angel laughed bitterly. “It isn’t worth it Spike. She was mine, and now I’ve lost her. I’m just gonna sit here and wait for sunrise. I harbour no illusions about our souls being united finally, together forever. I know I deserve to suffer for all I’ve done and Buffy deserves to spend the rest of eternity happy. Our respective after-lives just don’t... mesh. You gave me nearly three years with her. For that I’m grateful. Now *leave*.”
“Uh, mate, it isn’t that simple...” Angel glanced at Spike, slightly curiously. Spike took a deep breath.
“Y’see, I slept with her. Nine times. Actually, nine and a half,” he corrected, absently, his mind wandering. It had the desired effect.
Angel flew at him, face transforming, a roar bursting from his throat. He threw Spike to the ground, pinning him down easily.
“You *lie*!” he growled.
“Uh, no. I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But maybe you believe in that little brown mole on her left breast, just above the nipple. It looks like a crescent moon.” Angel stood up and backed away, dropping Spike as he did so. He literally crumpled, collapsing to the ground.
“No, oh god, no, I don’t want to hear this...” He looked up, tears forming in his eyes. “*Why*?” he whispered. “Why tell me this? What purpose could it possibly serve?”
Spike briefly considered his options, before deciding on the truth.
“I wanted to make you hurt the way I’ve had to. Make you feel the pain I did every time I imagined you with her. The agony I knew whenever I saw you together. I’m an unoriginal chap. Plus, I hoped you’d kill me,” he added, conversationally.
Angel was way past the stage where Spike’s revelations shocked him. Instead he simply repeated his question: “Why?”
“For the same reason you want to die, mate. I don't want to live without her.”
Angel leaned back and smiled slightly. “She had that kind of effect. You really loved her?”
“More than you could comprehend.”
“You’d be surprised what I can believe about her. Buffy can inspire a lot of love in pretty much anyone. How did it start?”
Spike decided since he’d given away so much and he fully intended to die tonight anyway, he had nothing to lose from telling Angel.
“By accident, actually. I didn’t realise you’d be there, in England. Thought since you were an Irish person, you’d pick that place first, rather than the mainland. I figured you’d take her to your birthplace, introduce her to your roots, that sort of thing. Not to Cornwall. When I saw her, I thought I was hallucinating. I’d done a lot of that since I ... since I killed Drusilla. She was starting to annoy me!” he explained defensively, in response to Angel’s grunt of surprise.
“Anyway. She spotted me while I was busy rubbing my eyes, and trying to wake up from what I thought was a dream or a hallucination or something and she attacked me. I wasn’t ready and she had me on my back with a stake at my heart before I could say ‘Uncle.’
“So I did the only thing I could think of. I kissed her. I’d always wanted to do it, and I thought I could kill two birds with one stone since I was hoping it would give me a chance to make a run for it. Last thing either of us expected was for her to kiss me back. It shocked her more than it did me, although it was a close run thing.
“She pulled away, and started to cry, something about betraying your trust. It soon turned into a massive tear-festival; there was snot and tears and muck everywhere, and I didn’t have a handkerchief.” Spike made a face. “Dru wasn’t much for crying; she’d always just whine, or keen, or whatever. Sometimes she collapsed, but she never once shed a tear in all the time I knew her. I tell you, I was at a loss, plus that Slayer was the last person anyone’d expect to break down like that. Eventually I just gave her my jacket, and I’m telling you, that went straight in the bin...
*** October, 1999, Cornwall, England ***
Buffy sniffled, and looked up at Spike.
“God, this is pathetic. Snivelling in front of my mortal enemy.”
“What happened with Angel?”
“What makes you think I’m not here on my own?”
“I know he came back from Hell about the same time you disappeared. Doesn’t take a maths genius to put two and two together.”
“Why are *you* here?”
“Because it was as good a place as any to come. Got nothing to tie me to anywhere, no reason to settle anyplace. I’m just footloose and fancy free.”
“What about Drusilla?”
“Dead.” The short reply indicated Spike wanted to avoid the subject of Drusilla.
Buffy instead sniffed again, and apologised for the state of his jacket, nervously realising she had nothing else to say, and that he’d probably kill her now. Surprised, she found she wasn’t afraid of her death anymore.
“Why ever not?” Spike asked, and she realised to her horror that she’d voiced that last thought aloud.
“Because there’s no reason to go on. Angel’s so afraid of hurting me, he barely talks to me. And I can’t go home. I just feel so alone.”
“So do I,” Spike confessed, before leaving hurriedly, shocked at his openness with the Slayer.
When they’d bumped into each other again he wasn’t sure which one initiated the evenings events, or even what happened exactly. All he knew was that they slept together that night. She out of fear, he out of loneliness.
Something clicked, and they made love eight more times, and one time that didn’t qualify as actual sex but had come pretty close, hence the nine and a half total. Through her time with Spike, Buffy had finally come to realise what she loved about Angel, and why she needed him, and she’d managed to rebuild his trust in himself. Soon after, she found she didn’t need Spike anymore and she persuaded Angel to move on, without telling Spike.
He hadn’t been surprised; she’d never actually loved him. She’d only needed him, like Dru. He had come to Chicago on a whim, and certainly hadn’t expected to find Buffy again. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her he found but her obituary. He’d known it was her immediately, even though her hair was brown and her name was different.
She’d become something of a charity benefactor, giving money away left, right and centre. Many people had commented on what a tragic loss her death was to all the sick or disabled children whom she regularly visited in hospital. Spike had almost thrown up at the nauseating goodness of it.
Knowing Angel was bound to show up sooner or later, he’d waited, and sure enough, the next night he’d watched as Angel visited the grave and lamented his loss. He’d been unable to prevent himself from off-loading some of his pain onto the vampire who’d had the one thing that would have eased his suffering. Buffy. And he had also been hoping that the outcome of the night would be a little pile of Spike-ashes. Unfortunately, Angel wasn’t playing fair...
*** Present, Chicago, America***
“What say we do it together? I’ll keep you company?” Angel offered, shifting into a more comfortable position.
“You aren’t gonna kill me?” Spike asked, unable to hide the tinge of disappointment in his voice.
“Nope. I figure the things you expect me to hate you for actually brought me and her closer together. Why should I want to kill you for that? Besides, it won’t make any difference when I’m dead.”
Spike sighed. Then he grinned. “You always were the contrary one, mate. Still, you were the one who brought me into this life. You may as well be the one I’m with when I leave it.”
“I was going to do this three years ago, but Buffy stopped me.”
“How?”
“Guilt-tripping, mainly.”
Spike grinned again, as he settled himself besides Angel.
“Women,” he remarked, sighing. “Can’t live with them...”
“...but we’re gonna die without her.” Angel finished. “What was she like? Buffy? In bed.”
“Better than anyone else I’ve ever been with, in nearly two hundred years. You have brilliant taste.”
Angel smiled, accepting the compliment. “She was amazing. I don’t regret a single second I spent with her. The day I realised she loved me was the first day since the curse that I didn’t hate who I was, because it was what gave me the chance to meet her.”
“She has that effect on people. And vampires,” Spike mused. And then the sun rose.
“Wow. I’d forgotten what it was like,” Spike breathed, unable to tear his eyes from the amazing sight. The pair waited patiently. When the light touched Angel’s foot, he stared at it in wonder.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, bewildered. “It feels... warm.”
The light crept up his legs, and reached Spike’s feet. The pair were soon bathed in sunlight, their eyes squinting in the brightness. And suddenly it was over. Spike looked around, disoriented. He could see Angel sitting next to him. They were still occupying the same positions they had in the graveyard. Angel’s eyes widened and he took in a sharp intake of breath, ignoring the fact, for the moment, that he was breathing.
“Buffy?”
Spike followed his line of sight, and saw something he’d never expected to look upon, ever again. It was Buffy, looking radiant in a simple white robe.
“Hi, guys. Welcome to the afterlife.”
They stared at her in confusion. She approached them, and glanced around cautiously. She leaned closer to them and whispered in their ears conspiratorially.
“Slayers are, like, major VIP's here. I pulled a few strings.”
“You mean you got us... *upgrades*?” Spike asked, skeptically.
“Yup!” She grinned. “I’m not gonna spend my afterlife alone. I wanted you *both* with me.” Spike and Angel stared at each other, bemused.
Finally, Angel accepted it with a fatalistic shrug. It didn’t matter that much, anymore, as long as he was with Buffy. Spike was welcome to come along for the ride.
“I get the left side of the bed, though,” he asserted.
The afterlife rung with the sounds of Buffy’s laughter and Spike’s vehement disagreement.
“No, mate, I *always* sleep on the left...”
THE END
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