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Final Requests	By : sanityfair Category: > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 2001 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is not for profit. I do not own BTVS or any of its characters or settings.

Chapter List
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Buffy had never been so glad to be in the sanctuary of her own home. She dropped her keys on the kitchen table and her purse in one of the chairs. Staring her in the face on the kitchen counter was the English tea service Anne had given her as a housewarming gift six months ago. Anne had been so proud of her for being able to purchase her own home. She'd been planning to have Anne over for tea and scones tomorrow afternoon. She'd even special ordered Anne's favorite tea, blue sapphire, an English afternoon tea. The sight of the tea service made her nauseous. Joyce had tried to get her to eat something at the hospital or go out with her to a restaurant, but Buffy just wanted to be alone. Alone to process the events of this horrible day and to figure out how in the world she was going to honor Anne's last request. The latter made her heart race with anxiety.

Buffy walked down the hall, to the bathroom, heart still pounding. She shed her clothes in a pile on the floor before turning on the taps, when the water was a hot as she could stand. She pulled the lever and stepped under the pelting spray, hoping it would wash away some of her helplessness. In a daze, Buffy washed her hair and body, trying to cleanse herself of the smell of the hospital. She stood under the spray until it ran cold. Shivering, she pulled back the curtain and reached for a towel. She toweled off vigorously, warming herself from the cold water.

Buffy went through her nightly rituals as if on autopilot, with the exception of applying extra eye gel to decrease the puffiness around her eyes. She went to her bedroom, quickly put on her pajamas, then got into bed and curled up under the covers, willing sleep to come. She was physically and mentally exhausted. A chill resonated through her, all the way to her bones, so deep that no number of blankets could warm. One of the most important people in her life was gone. She'd lost her father at such a young age, and she hadn't able to comprehend the loss until she was much older, but this was somehow different, even more painful.

She wondered if her mother had been able to contact Spike and if he still went by that name, now that he was an associate professor. Though Buffy hadn't spoken to him, Anne mentioned him and his accomplishments from time to time. Buffy knew they were still very close, and she heard the pride in Anne's voice whenever she spoke of him. Spike came home every holiday, though Buffy managed to avoid him almost completely. There was the rare occasion when she'd been unaware he was there and had to be in the same room with him for a moment or two, but she'd never spoken directly to him, not once in eleven years. Now, she was supposed to be there for him at a time in his life when he needed someone most. They were virtual strangers. How was this ever going to work? She found herself angry with Anne for making her promise such a thing. Didn't she know how painful this was going to be for her?

Buffy snorted. Right, painful for her. What about Anne? How could she even think of denying Anne her dying wish because of her own stupid fears? And What about Spike? The pain of losing his mother ground her own selfish feelings to dust.

Exhaustion soon won out over thinking, and Buffy fell into a fitful sleep.

She awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. For a brief moment, she thought maybe it had all been a nightmare, but the lingering nausea and puffy lids from all her crying soon convinced her otherwise. She went into the bathroom to get some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and gasped when she saw her rat's nest bedhead. That's what happens when you go to bed with a wet head, she thought. She took two pills and brushed her hair. It was Saturday, her day off, so she came back into the bedroom and dressed in a jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. She needed to call her mom and see what was going on.

Buffy ran a hand through her hair as she punched in the numbers on her cordless phone.

"Hello?" Joyce sounded tired, as if she'd just woken up.

"Hey, Mom," said Buffy, pacing the length of the couch. "Were you able to get in touch with Spike last night?"

"I spoke with him just after his plane landed last night. Oh, Buffy, he sounded completely devastated."

Hearing this gave Buffy pause. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. "Do you know anything about the arrangements?"

"No, I think William will be handling all of that."

"All right." Buffy hesitated a moment before she was able to get the words out. "Anne asked a strange request of me. She…she asked me to comfort him. I'm kinda at a loss as to how to do that."

There was an awkward silence on the other end of the line. Buffy's heartbeat was so rapid she thought she could almost hear it as she waited for her mother to reply.

"Well, dear, I'm sure she had her reasons. You'll just do the best you can. I'm sure he hasn't had anything to eat. You could stop by Thompson's bakery and pick up some of those scones that Anne adored. Maybe he'll need some help with the arrangements as well."

Buffy almost dropped the phone when she heard her mom's suggestion. The mere thought of seeing him made her want to run back to bed and hide like a scared child. "I'll think about it. I have to go, Mom. Let me know if you hear anything."

She hung up the phone, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. Telling herself it was like ripping off a band-aid. Buffy grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.

When Spike first awoke, he felt disoriented until reality came crashing down like a brick wall. He was in his old room, and his mum was dead. She wouldn't be downstairs making tea and breakfast. He wouldn't kiss her good morning or joke with her about a possible new romance she might have. He was alone in the house where he grew up.

He'd gotten in late last night and found the key under the pot of geraniums by the front door. Silence was the only thing to greet him. The room was in a bit of disarray. He imagined it was from when the paramedics had come, but forced those images out of his brain. He didn't want to think about it. He opened the liquor cabinet and grabbed a half-full bottle of Jameson and sat down in one the chairs, thinking, Sod the glass! He drank and cried, the tears running unchecked down his cheeks until the bottle was empty. The rest of the night was a blur, and somehow he'd ended up on top of his bed still wearing his clothes and shoes.

His head hurt like a bitch. He jumped up and quickly ran for the bathroom, barely making to the toilet before throwing up. Getting drunk hadn't been such a smart idea, especially since he hadn't eaten anything all day. He stood to rinse his mouth out in the sink before searching for some ibuprofen. No such luck. He slowly made his way downstairs to get his things and took a quick look in the kitchen for something for his head. Everywhere he saw reminders of Anne. The kettle on the stove, the teacup in the sink—Spike wondered how he was ever going to get through this alone.

He found what he needed and took them with some water, then gathered his things and he went upstairs to shower.

After his shower, he stared into the mirror, not recognizing the stranger looking back at him. His eyes were bloodshot and the lids were puffy. Finishing up in the bathroom, he bid farewell to the face in the mirror and went downstairs to rummage through the cupboards in search of something fill the void in his stomach. He knew he would have to go through his mum's affairs this morning, but he wasn't ready to do that.

The doorbell rang, and he wondered who would be coming over without calling. He knew people wanted to know things, but right now, he just wanted to be alone. The doorbell rang again.

"Bloody hell!"

He flung open the door, ready to lay into the nosy git who couldn't mind their own business, only to stop and stare in utter astonishment. If someone told him she'd be standing outside his door right now, he'd have bet his last dollar against it. Spike's heart beat wildly in his chest, and he felt a lump the size of a boulder swell in his throat.

Buffy Summers stood in the doorway holding a box from Thompson's. She seemed to find her shoes very interesting. She barely met his gaze when he opened the door.

"Buffy? What are you doing here? Sorry, I mean come in."
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Final Requests