The Last Wish
Spoilers: Season 6, but not really.
Summary: The last night, this is sad—angsty.
Disclaimers: BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon and ME.
Distribution: please ask.
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Death came for her that night. He was dressed in a black suit and smoking a cigar.
She didn't know what was coming, here lying in his arms content for the first time in a long time she wasn't expecting it.
Why hadn't it come for her before, when she hadn't found love again, when she'd just gotten her life back together?
But death came and there was no turning back now. It was her time.
She felt it calling her soul from the depths of the abysm and she let go. Until she stood fully clothed looking down at her lover and her dead body entwined in the arms of love.
She knew he would wake up soon, he always monitored her heartbeat like a constant reminder that it would never be him that would leave her.
She watched him, wondering if spirits could cry--her question was answered when she felt tears run down her translucent cheeks. She walked over to his side of the bed and touched him, thankful that she could still feel touch through her ghostly fingers.
He moaned lightly in sleep and clutched the now dead body to him, smelling her hair and kissing the dead cheek.
She looked down at him and cried for his soon to be broken heart.
"Will he be alright?" she asked the dark suit, smoking the cigar.
Death looked down at the blond demon and sighed. "It's not his time yet," he said.
Her faint fingers threaded themselves into his spiked hair. Soft hair that she had loved running her fingers through.
"How can a demon have time if a demon has no soul?" she asked sadly, hating the eternity he had been condemned to.
"All creatures have souls, and that one is special—you know it," Death said to her.
She bent down and kissed his temple, inhaling the scent that was so purely his, the one that calmed her and made her edgy at the same time.
"What is your last wish?" Death asked as she faced.
Glossy watered green eyes looked down at the sleeping vampire, holding what he loved in his arms.
"Give him some happiness, I want him to be happy." She whispered.
Death arched its eyebrow at her and studied her. "Still trying to be the hero I see?"
The dead slayer looked back at him. "Hero is one who saves." She looked down at the pale fingers one last time. "He saved me."
Death nodded and agreed.
One last moment the spirit of the warrior looked around at what she had made for herself and smiled. "We did good, baby—we did," she whispered.
Death turned and started walking out, she followed him into that place she had been so long ago—to that place were she belonged for the rest of eternity.
In the faint chambers of her mind she heard him wake, she heard him cry out, she heard him sob. The consolation that kept her walked without looking back—what kept her going and kept her from falling apart was the last wish.
That tiny spec of hope that one day he would be happy again.
Maybe not in this life, maybe not in the nest, but someday his demon soul would be free.
She walked out into the early dawn hours, following in the footsteps of death, not looking back, and not seeing the curtain falling from the chamber of love.
Not seeing simmering body against body—not seeing death give her final wish.
So the room burned down, mingling with the ashes of fallen loves.