smoke4

DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss Whedon, UPN, the WB, FOX , Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. Theirs not mine.

�Everything will work itself out, love.� I try to think of something fun to do. �You want to play some cards? Paint our fingernails?� I get a faint smile out of her, and then a shake of the head. �Why don�t you rest, sweets? I�ll come and get you as soon as anything happens.� She shuffles down the hall. The door closes behind her, and the faint strains of Enya pour out. I remember Joyce playing it when she was feeling blue, and when she was sick.

Going into Willow�s empty room, I brace my back against the wall. I bang my head against it, over and over again. The pain is familiar, reassuring even. I slam my head against the wall until it is wreathed in a dull throbbing pain. I feel something snap inside of me, and I hear myself sobbing, sobbing so mournfully. I cry, waves of tears that seem as if they will never end. Grieving, again, for Buffy.

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I am lying on a bed in the middle of Spike�s crypt. The sun shines through the windows and the open door, hitting my skin. It feels soothing and peaceful. My lover lies next to me, staring at me. I reach out and touch his hair. �Time to go, sweetness,� he says. �We have places to go, disasters to avert.�

I smile at him, still feeling heavy and drugged with sleep. �I like it here. Things are better, easier.�

Spike�s eyes are dark and deep, and seem sad. �We need to face the world, slayer. We can relax after everything gets worked out.�

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close. �I�m tired of dealing with the world. I just want to stay here with you.� He kisses me, the sweet gentle kisses that I love best. After a few minutes, he pushes me away, sighing.

�We have forever to kiss, love. But there are some kinks that need working out.� He reaches over and scoops me in his arms. �Time to go.�

�I�m too tired, I don�t have the energy.� I am exhausted, much too tired to go anywhere.

He looks down at me, his face pained. �Do you want to drink?�

�I do,� I say, realizing that is what I need, what I�ve been missing.

Settling me down in the pillows, he moves to cut his arm. �Not there. I want your neck.� Staring in my eyes, he tears open the skin of his throat. Pulling me to him, he holds me tight as I seek out the wound and drink. With every sip, I feel stronger, clearer, better in every way. When I am fully satiated, I let him go. His head is thrown back, his mouth wide with the pleasure of our embrace. The wound in his throat is nearly closed.

He lifts his head, looking at me with eyes a deep turquoise. �We have to go now, Buffy. I need you with me.� I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling replete and content. I edge back into slumber.

Grabbing me by the shoulders, Spike recites the blood vow. �For love I have claimed you. By blood I have bound you. Return to me.� I feel myself pulled towards him, returning to the missing part of myself, and becoming whole.

Suddenly, I am elsewhere. I am lying in my bed. �My back hurts.� Spike gently helps me sit up. He hands me two pills and a cup of water. �Take these,� he says, and I do. �The pain will be better in just a few minutes, love. We have to get you dressed and downstairs.� His tone is dark and serious. He looks at me. �Your father is here.�

�Why is he here now? He didn�t even come for Mom�s funeral.� I roll my shoulders, wincing with pain. �I don�t think I can do this, Spike.�

�You have to, pet, � he says. �You have to put on a good show for your Dad, right now, or we could lose Dawn. Why else would he show up here today?� Spike bandages my back and dresses me in an oversized black silk shirt. He pulls soft suede slacks up my legs and guides my feet into black leather mules. He takes me in the bathroom, and I am pleased to discover that I can walk on my own.

Spike brushes my hair gently, smoothing it back with a wide headband. With delicate strokes, he blends foundation into my skin, covering the pallor with a healthy tint. He powders my face softly with the puff of my compact. He smoothes blush on my cheeks and eye shadow on my lids, even lining my eyes with a steady hand. Lastly, he fills in my pale lips with pink, expertly tracing their shape.

�How do you know how to do this?� I ask curiously.

He looks at me, eyes blank. �Drusilla. She wasn�t always in control of herself, but I knew she always wanted to look pretty. So I made sure she did.�We go downstairs. No one is in the living room. Sitting at the dining room table is Dawn, and my father. Spike looks at me, and I nod reassuringly. He walks into the kitchen.

�Hi, Dad.� He looks up at me uncertainly. Coming over to me, he gives me a tentative hug. It is so gentle; I don�t even feel any pain.