Last Day, Last Goodbye
Spike approached the telephone box slowly. He had taken Angel's advice, got drunk, and held a poetry reading in a bar. The strange thing was, the audience loved it. It had filled him with a pride he had never associated with his poetry. Some had even cried at his first – and last – reading of the one about his mother.
As far as last days on earth went, his had not been bad. But there was one thing he had left to do, that he couldn't die without having done.
Andrew answered the phone in Italian. Spike tried to disguise his voice.
"Can I talk to Buffy, please?"
"Sure thing. Who is that?"
He hesitated. "An old friend."
Spike had not heard Buffy's voice in so long, when she answered he nearly broke the phone he pressed it against his ear so hard. "Hello?"
He closed his eyes, and just listened to her voice. The warmth from the poetry reading was nothing compared to this. He wanted the moment to last forever.
"Hello? Who's there?"
Finally, he sensed her about to hang up, and spoke quickly in a hushed tone. "Buffy?"
"Yes? Who is that?"
Spike took a deep breath, and continued in a whisper, "I love you." There was a long pause. "Goodbye, pet."
He hung up, sank to the ground, and wept.