Spike often woke in the middle of the night to find Buffy clinging to him in her sleep.
When he dreamt, it was of a life they'd never get to live.
He wanted to do everything with her. He wanted to take her places, watch her as she experienced new things. For someone who had lived so long, so much was still new to her, and Spike delighted in watching her as she saw and felt things for the first time.
He couldn't stand to think he'd never get to see that look of wonder in her eyes again.
Spike knew his manuscript was close to finished. He'd written more in a few short weeks than he had in whole years in the past. Buffy had inspired him like nothing else ever could, and he knew it was because of more than the powers she held as a muse.
It was her laugh, her voice. It was her touch, her kiss.
The sheen of her hair. The shine of her eyes.
The way she fell apart under his fingers and mouth…
Perhaps it was better they hadn't been able to truly make love. He was already lost enough without the knowledge of how it felt to be inside of her.
She lay beside him now, still panting from her recent orgasm, a dreamy expression on her face. He committed the sight to memory, never wanting to forget the way she looked right then.
She turned, her smile warm. "I love you."
Spike smiled back as he tried desperately to hold on to this moment as well.
"I love you, too."
"Are you up for a walk, pet?"
Buffy turned at Spike's question. "Does that mean you're going to have to put more clothes on?"
Spike laughed, then asked, his eyebrows wagging, "You like me in nothing but my jeans, kitten?"
"Well, I like you naked, though I can see why you wouldn't want to sit on the floor all day trying to write like that. But I do like looking at your chest. You're a very pretty man, Spike."
He knew she was quite possibly the only person he'd let get away with calling him "pretty." "That so?"
"Yup." She leaned forward and ran her hand down his bare chest, making him shiver. "But I could go for a walk. It looks like a nice day out."
"Then let's go. I think my legs could use a stretch."
They got ready and left the house, making the trek back down to the cemetery. It was a nice day out, the rare London sunshine making the graveyard seem oddly cheery.
"I like it here," Buffy said as they walked hand in hand among the stones.
"The first time we came here, you acted like I was crazy," Spike pointed out.
"Well, I thought you were. Then," Buffy replied. "But since, well, I don't know… Being here, it's like, it's our place now, you know?"
Yes, Spike did know. Coming here was going to take on a whole new meaning once Buffy was gone. The air would hang heavy with her memory.
Buffy stilled in front of the grave of a woman Spike had noticed her stop in front of several times before, and she traced her fingers over the inscription. He thought he saw sadness in her eyes as she touched the words "Beloved Wife," but knew he had to be putting intentions on her thoughts that weren't there. Despite her love for him, Spike knew what Buffy wanted was to continue being a muse.
She'd told him it was her purpose, what gave her meaning. A domestic life couldn't possibly satisfy her after all the time she'd spent as a mystical being.
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her loosely. She dropped her hand and leaned back against him, her eyes closing for several moments.
A stray thought flittered through Buffy's mind.
She could die like this and not regret the loss of immortality.
"Buffy?"
She opened her eyes and tilted her head back to look at Spike. "Yes?"
"How long does it usually take for a muse to get assigned to someone else after she's finished her last assignment?"
"Sometimes only a few days, usually not more than a month. Why?"
"I was just wondering how long it would be until…" Spike trailed off, but Buffy didn't have to read his mind to know what else he would've said, had he finished the sentence.
"How long until I'm with someone else."
"Yeah."
She turned in his embrace, his arms still encircling her waist. "I won't do what we've done with anyone else, Spike. This was special—something I only want to share with you."
"I know, but still, thinking about you inspiring some other bloke..." Spike sighed. "I can't help but be jealous, pet."
"I know." Buffy looked down, away from the intense gaze of his blue eyes. "To be honest, I'm not sure how I'm going to inspire anyone else. Everything seems different now."
Spike knew exactly what he shouldn't say now. Asking her to give up who she was was asking too much, but he couldn't help it. The knowledge he'd be losing her soon was heavy on his heart, and he had to try.
"Stay with me, Buffy. We…we can have a life together. I know it's a lot to ask, but we'll be happy, I know it. Please, kitten."
Her eyes filled with tears, the desperate, pleading look he was giving her breaking her heart. It was so tempting, just to throw it all away and live a life with Spike, loving him with even her dying breath.
But she couldn't. She had a duty. She had a purpose, and it was a calling greater than loving one man. She turned, her eyes focused on the grave which to her had come to represent the one thing she could never have.
"I can't, Spike."
He slumped, though he'd expected nothing else. "I know."
"I'm sorry," she told him, her words barely above a whisper.
Spike pulled her back him, and she laid her head against his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his body. "It's all right, luv. I had no right to even ask, and it's selfish of me to want it. You'd have to give up everything, and I'd be losing nothing in the process. Not quite a fair bargain."
Buffy looked up, knowing that technically, his words should be true. However, strangely enough, she still felt as if she were losing everything, just by losing him. "I do wish I could stay," she admitted. "I love you desperately, and I do think we would be happy. I also think I could accept a mortal life, were it with you. But I can't, Spike. My place in this world isn't with you."
As much as it cut his heart to hear her say those words, he knew they were true. "I know," he told her again.
They were silent for a moment, the cheery atmosphere that had started with them on their walk gone now. Spike broke away form her. "Let's go back to the flat, luv. I want to write some more."
Buffy nodded and followed out, though she allowed herself one last glance at the grave of a stranger as her heart broke for what she'd always be denied.
Spike had stopped writing hours ago, though he'd been loathed to move. After they'd returned from the cemetery, he'd written well into the evening, pouring all of his passions and frustrations out onto paper. His love for Buffy mixed with his pain at the knowledge he couldn't keep her was all there.
Buffy had watched him silently for hours, her wide green eyes taking in every stroke of his pen until finally, she curled up on the end of the couch and fallen asleep. When he'd written all he could, he'd come up on the couch to sit beside her, watching her as she slept.
There, he'd stayed.
He knew he shouldn't have asked her not to leave, knew he'd crossed a line in doing so, but he hadn't been able to help it. He couldn't tell if she was angry with him for daring to request so much of her, but he still wouldn't take it back.
He loved her, far more than he'd ever loved Drusilla—far more than he'd ever loved anyone else. Their time together had been short, yet in that time she'd spoken to his heart in ways he'd never before thought possible. She'd touched him deeper than even he could ever express.
He'd never let her go if he didn't think he'd hurt her so much if he made her stay.
But he couldn't do that to her, not when she held his heart. He was hers completely, nothing more than her willing slave it seemed, and he would never take what she did not freely offer.
Even if it meant he had to let her go forever.
Like her, he wanted to rail against the Powers who had brought them together only to cruelly rip them apart so soon afterwards, but at the same time, he meant it when he told her he was grateful for getting to love her for even a brief moment in time.
That, however, did not mean it didn't tear him to pieces to know he couldn't keep her—he just didn't want her to know how much it hurt. He didn't want her to leave and then have to spend an eternity thinking she'd caused him that sort of pain.
Because the pain was worth it. Anything was worth it to get to know her.
She made a soft sigh in her sleep, and Spike smiled gently, reaching out to brush a tendril of hair away from her cheek. She always seemed to glow from the inside, her skin illuminated with an otherworldly light.
She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and he'd never be able to forget her face, no matter how much time passed after she stepped out of his life.
He wondered how much time he had left with her. Would she stay until the month was up, or did she have to leave once he'd written all the poems he needed for his manuscript? Spike wanted to get every moment he could with her, wanted to have as much time to look back on as possible once she was gone.
However, he knew whenever she left, it was going to be nearly impossible to say goodbye.
Spike could've sat there on the couch watching her sleep all night, but it was late, and he needed to get some sleep himself. He stood, then bent over to pick Buffy up, smiling at the way she instinctively nuzzled against his chest as soon as she was in his arms.
It was the little things like that he was going to miss the most.
He pressed his nose against her hair, breathing in deeply of her scent. He caught traces of it almost everywhere now, and his heart clenched at the thought that someday, it may fade from his home completely.
How could he sleep on sheets that no longer smelled of her?
But they were worries for later when he had her in his arms now, and he tried to push them away as he carried her to bed.
He left the living room, his finished manuscript still on the floor.
Thoughts? Please leave a review and let me know 'em.