(no subject)
For my 25 Day Spuffy Challenge (which you can see here), my day twenty-one was to talk about my personal Spuffy headcanon. I chose to ff how I see their after. After the shows, after the comics, ever after.
They came together again. She lived her life, and he appeared at her window as if no time had passed. As if everything was just the same, just as it had always been. As if Sunnydale wasn’t a new tourist attraction and scientific marvel. To say it was like habit wouldn’t do justice to the truth, but habitual it was. So much so that she didn’t question him when he appeared, and he didn’t feel the need to offer an explanation. He was just there, and there was exactly where he should be.
The streets of San Francisco were always darker. The fog seemed pervasive, and she found herself growing colder and colder, piling on sweaters and sweatshirts every night before patrol. She was even more grateful now for any vampire or demon attack because it offered her the opportunity to get her blood flowing, to bring life back into her limbs. She thought she would adjust to the cold; she was wrong.
And in that sense, getting closer to Spike wasn’t exactly advantageous. He wasn’t alive; he was the temperature of the world around him. So when he pulled her close to him to warm her up, it didn’t really do any good. But she could wrap her arms around his duster, bury her face in the cotton of his shirt, and somehow, together, they could fight the cold away.
They were friends; they were not friends; they were more than friends. Nothing was spoken, words simply weren’t said, and at some point, she realized how incredibly stupid she was being. But she couldn’t form her lips around the words, so she found herself kissing him one night when he appeared at her window. Pulling him in and tucking away the fears at the back of her heart when he kissed her back.
Time hadn’t gone anywhere and nothing had changed. But of course everything had changed. Because she finally understood him. Finally understood his heart and she finally understood hers. It made sense and wasn’t something to be feared or fought. It was right, they were right.
And they fought and they bickered like hell and put up two of the greatest war fronts the world has ever seen. They picked each other up and threw themselves against walls and never stopped being turned on by the other. On the days when he would doubt himself she’d stand him upright again. On the days when she would blame herself for the woes of the world he’d smack sense into her brain. He was hers and she was his, and labels seemed so far beyond them that they simply didn’t bother with them.
“You know,” he said one day. “You can never marry me.”
“What?”
“‘Not the marrying kind, me.”
“Oh, I see.”
“So don’t go getting your hopes up for a bloody ring because I’m not doing it, you hear? Slayer/Vampire business doesn’t need to be any more complicated.”
“Ok.”
“Look, I’m just saying, I can’t give you a family and everything you deserve Buffy, so just forget it.”
And she looked at him, and he looked at her, and his face was framed with starlight and shadow. She could see his throat bob, watch his tongue lick his lips nervously, and she waited while he drew in a shuttering breath.
“Buffy?”
“Yes.”
“Will you… Will you never marry me?”
“Never.”
He smiled and they kissed and there were flames all around them, and that was that.
She was his, and he was hers.
The end came for her as they had always known it would one day. It was a dark day, the darkest yet. A slight apocalypse turning into the final one for her, and she died doing what she always did-saving the world. And he lived on, as he was always meant to do. A vampire, immortal and alone. A half without a whole, but better. One day, many years later, his end came as well. Fire and smoke, ash and dust. It was the end of a something made great by each other. He was hers and she was his. Not even the end of the world could stop that.