Subject: [SpikesSalvation] Friends and Strangers- Epilogue Date: Wed, 12 Nov 2003 16:49:17 -0800 (PST) From: Jerusha Hancock Reply-To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com Epilogue He'd made a promise to himself that he wouldn't return, but broke it in favor of a promise made to another. He stood, a lean figure in a black greatcoat, the only one left over from the brief memorial service. He was tieless, but he didn't think she would have minded. It had never been his style, and she had always been one to take him as is. "No alteration necessary," she'd been fond of saying. The small marble stone stood gleaming against the green expanse of lawn, and he knelt to trace the words with his finger. "Rachel Ellen Evans. Loved by many." They had had three years together, three good years. Spike had said good-bye to Sunnydale and its residents five years before. He'd shaken hands all around, given both Buffy and Willow chaste kisses on the cheek, and had handed the keys of his Desoto to Dawn, much to Buffy's disgust. But for all his brave words, he'd been ready to chuck it all and come back to Sunnydale after only a year. As much as he'd hated it, the town had become home, and Buffy was in his mind no less. He was just short of throwing in the towel when Rachel showed up at his door, a shy, hesitant smile on her face. She'd won a fellowship to study for her doctorate at Oxford and had come to visit. Spike never told her that he'd have been happy to see Harris, so homesick was he, but Rachel had been a most welcome surprise. They'd spent most weekends together that next year as he did research for the Council and worked on his memoirs and she worked on her degree. It had been natural for her to offer to take his hand-written pages and type them up, for even though he was quite handy with a computer, his typing left much to be desired. Besides work, though, they explored London and the surrounding areas together, ate picnic lunches, and once in a while went on a vamp hunt, "just to keep their hands in," as he liked to say. It was about a year later that they had gone out to one of his favorite pubs with a few of his friends to watch the World Cup match. They'd had a great time and a little too much to drink. Which was why when he leaned down to give her a good-night kiss, it turned into a bit more than that. And it also explained why he'd woken up the next morning with her lying beside him, sleeping. The night itself had been sweet, the sex good, maybe even better than good. The connection between them had hummed with energy, and the results had been rather pleasant. It was in that moment that Spike realized that love was not always the same from person to person. His love for Buffy was very real, and always would be, but he could love Rachel at the same time. Even if it wasn't in the same way, it didn't mean that he loved one better than the other, just that they were different people. Plus, Rachel was there beside him, and Buffy was three thousand miles away, and had made no mention of missing him in the two years he'd been gone. Knowing this, understanding that he could love one woman very differently than he had another, had freed him to enjoy what he had in the moment, without too many regrets. They'd had those three years together, exploring one another as friends and lovers. Rachel had always been easy to be with, and he had always enjoyed her company. Her presence had allowed him to be content in a place that was not Sunnydale, and at the end of those three years, he was thinking of Buffy only once or twice a week, instead of every five minutes. The day he'd found her, he'd been notified that he was to receive his own potential Slayer the next time one was identified, which would be soon, if the signs were right. It was something he'd hoped for, and he had rushed home to tell her. At first, he'd assumed she was asleep in the armchair that sat underneath the window. It wasn't unusual for her to take a nap there, but she hadn't been breathing, and there were no marks on her body. Spike glanced at the note he held in his hand. He'd found it after they'd taken the body away, along with all the arrangements and directions she'd made for herself, from cremation orders to what poetry was to be read at the memorial service. Staring at the white marble, engraved with her name, it hit him that she really was dead. A burst of wind came up suddenly, and the paper he held flew from limp fingers, but he paid it no notice as he wept. All that was left of her was this stone, and the urn full of her ashes, and his own beating heart. Buffy stooped to pick up the slip of paper that had gotten itself caught in the tree root. She began to fold it up when she saw the greeting and signature, but her eye was caught by the kneeling figure by the new headstone. He was bent double, head on his knees, shoulders shaking. They had been worried when he didn't show up again after the end of the memorial service, and Buffy had offered to go after him. She remembered her own silent vigil by her mother's grave until Angel had come to comfort her. Spike would need the same kind of friend. She had seen the pain in his eyes as he came out of the gate at Sunnydale airport, Giles behind him and to one side. She wasn't sure she would have recognized him as quickly if the Watcher had not had his hand on one of Spike's shoulders. He'd let his hair grow out slightly, so that dark roots showed and it curled at the ends. He was dressing more formally, as well, in black pants and a blue button-down shirt. But he'd been wearing the same black Docs and the black greatcoat he wore was not so terribly different than the duster that still hung in her own closet. His eyes had been the same though, that deep, endless blue, and he'd seen her immediately. And in that instant of recognition she could see that he still loved her, but pain had shuttered that look, and later Buffy would wonder if she'd only imagined it. She longed to know him, to understand him, this stranger that was as familiar to her as her own face. Once she had known every expression, every line of his face, every plane of his body, but five years had aged them, and changed them. He looked older now, and there were lines in his face that she had never seen before. The letter in her hand held a clue, a key to unlocking the mystery and the complexity that was Spike, and Buffy couldn't resist reading it. To my dear Protector, By now you must have realized that there were things the powers told me that night I never shared with you. They were rather specific about the fact that I didn't have much longer to live, whatever path I chose. So I knew when I chose to become fully human that I wouldn't have much time. Please don't be too angry with me. I didn't tell you at first because I didn't want to burden you with the knowledge, and because I was afraid you would pull away from me. Silly, I know, because I knew you wouldn't, but I was still scared. Then, later, after we were together, I didn't want any shadow to fall across what time we had together. Perhaps it was selfish, but I never thought you would love me, and when you did, I wanted to hold onto it with both hands and run. In the end, I wouldn't change one thing about our time. I have no regrets about the choice I made. I knew that you were in love with Buffy, and that your heart would never belong to me, so I was happy with what you were able to give me. I know you still long for her, and I can only hope that someday you might find the happiness I have had. My time is growing short; I will not see you again. Know that I love you, and that you are worthy of that. You were worthy of my gift then, you are worthy of my sacrifice now. Be well and be happy. Yours always, Duchess Buffy carefully folded up the letter, and looked out towards the now-still figure of the man Rachel had known so well. She loved him, of course. She'd loved him for a long time now, but had been too afraid to say it. She feared being hurt, and what her friends would say, and that since it wasn't the same as it had been with Angel, it wasn't right and it wasn't as good. Spike, it seemed, had learned his lesson faster, that love wasn't the same, time and again. She knew, now, that her love for this man was just as deep, just as wonderful, as her first love for Angel had been, but it was different. Five years and three thousand miles seemed to have a way of putting things into perspective. As Rachel had said, she wanted to hold onto this love of hers with both hands and run, and damn the consequences. But it wouldn't be tonight. No, tonight she would take him home and get him drunk, letting him spill all his pain out between them. She would help to bear this burden as only a friend could. Tomorrow would be another day, and she could offer her comfort then, and in time they would see each other as they were. As Rachel had seen them. Buffy tucked the note into her pocket and squared her shoulders. And walked out to meet her future. ---------------------------------