Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. They belong to Joss and his people. Don't sue me. It's rude. "Glycerine" is Bush.

Rating: R

Summary: After her last apocalypse, Buffy decided to finally live a normal life. But is it really all she dreamed it would be? (Six years after the end of Angel; Spike/Buffy)

Author's Note: This is my first Buffy fic, so please, be nice!

Feedback and Archiving: Both are very nice. Positive feedback and constructive criticism are welcome. Flames are ignored. Please ask before archiving. Email: addieloganyahoo.com

After the End Has Come and Gone

By: Addie Logan

It must be your skin that I'm sinking in
It must be for real 'cause now I can feel
And I didn't mind
It's not my kind, it's not my time to wonder why
Everything gone white
Everything's grey
Now you're here Now you're away
I don't want this
Remember that
I'll never forget where you're at

Don't let the days go by
Glycerine Glycerine

I'm never alone
I'm alone all the time
Are you at one, or do you lie
We live in a wheel where everyone steals
But when we rise it's like strawberry fields
I treated you bad, you bruise my face
I couldn't love you more, you've got a beautiful taste

Don't let the days go by
Could've been easier on you
I couldn't change though I wanted to
It should have been easier by three
Our old friend fear and you and me
Glycerine Glycerine

Don't let the days go by
Don't let the days go by....
Glycerine Glycerine
Glycerine Glycerine

Bad move white again
Bad move white again
As she falls around me
I needed you more when you wanted us less
I could not kiss, just regress
It might just be clear simple and plain
Well that's just fine that's just one of my names

Don't let the days go by
It could've been easier on you
Glycerine, Glycerine, Glycerine, Glycerine

Angel had wanted to stop the Apocalypse.

Instead, he'd almost brought it down on them all, years before it was supposed to arrive.

Buffy Summers stood, surveying the wreckage. She felt numb. She had hoped that she'd finished this part of her life, that she could just start over in Rome and enjoy herself in a way she hadn't been able to since she'd been a young teenager. She'd saved the world more time than she could count. Didn't she deserve a break?

She leaned against the nearest standing wall and let out a ragged breath. She knew she should be doing something. Celebrating, crying, anything to let out the torrent of emotions that should be welling in her. She kept staring, as if willing it all to either disappear or actually become real to her.


Buffy held up her hand. "Not now, Angel."

"It's over, Buffy," Angel said, ignoring her request. "We stopped it."

"You started it," Buffy snapped.

Angel flinched. "Buffy, Wolfram and Hart…"

"Oh, you mean the law firm of evil that you were the CEO of?" Buffy cut him off.

Angel gaped for a moment at a loss for words. "Buffy, I was trying to do something good…"

"Yeah, and a lot of 'good' it did," Buffy said, pointing to the mess in front of her. In the last year, Los Angeles had become ground zero for an all out war between good and evil. In the end, not much had been left.

"We stopped it," Angel said. "We stopped the Senior Partners, and…"

"It shouldn't have been now, Angel. This was someone else's apocalypse. Not mine."


Buffy looked at him, fire in her eyes again. "Xander's dead, Angel. I kept him alive for seven years in Sunnydale, but here…" She looked down, her voice almost a whisper. "He's dead."

Angel tried to find something he could say to that. "I lost people, too," he said lamely.

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?"

Angel looked down. He knew the answer to that question, but he didn't want to say it. "I didn't mean for this to happen, Buffy. I was trying… It was supposed to be different."

Buffy held up her hand. "I don't want to talk anymore, Angel. It's over now, and I'm…I'm tired." She sighed, running her hands through her messy hair. "I'm just so tired."


"Don't. I can't, not anymore." She looked at him one last time, a surprise flash of pain hitting her as she realized she could never again be the young girl who loved him with every thing she had and swore she always would. Anything that was left of that girl was buried along side her friends in the debris that surrounded them.

She turned, and Angel watched her walk away from him through the rubble and the blaze.

Five Years Later…

Spike wasn't exactly sure where he was. He had ridden into Texas several days ago, so he assumed he was somewhere near the Mexican border. But other than that, he had no clue. And he didn't care.

He pulled his motorcycle up to a motel, the fizzling neon sign painting his platinum blond hair and pale skin an eerie pink and blue. The sun would be up soon, and he needed a place to stay until nightfall again. It was times like this that he regretted picking a motorcycle over a car. He was really too restless to stop, but he also wasn't quite in the mood to be fried by the early morning sun either. He longed for his old DeSoto, the blackened windows protecting him from becoming nothing more than a blazing pile of dust.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked in. A man Spike figured was in his late twenties or early thirties was behind the desk, a hat pulled down over his eyes as he slept. He tapped the bell a couple of times, and the man jumped a little, then looked up. "You need a room."


"Fer how long?"

"Just for the day," Spike replied.

The man stood, pushing a book towards Spike. "That'll be thirty-five. Sign here."

Spike reached into his pocket, handing the man a wad of bills before signing the book. The man counted the money before grabbing a key from the rack behind him and handing it to Spike. "Room 2E."

Spike nodded, taking the key. He walked back outside, then up the stairs to his room. He unlocked the door, opening it to find a room that looked almost identical to all the others he'd found himself in over the years. "Home sweet home," he muttered, dropping his bag by the small table by the window. He took off his duster, hanging it over the back of a chair before going over to make sure the thick curtains were pulled tightly closed. He then sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his boots before lying down, staring at the ceiling. Spike closed his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep.

After all, it was better than being awake.

This is just sort of a try out chapter to see what kind of response I get so I can decide if I want to continue. It's my first Buffy fic, and I'm not sure if it's any good. Let me know if I should keep writing or not!