***
Come to me now
Lay your hands over me
Even if it’s a lie
Say it will be all right
And I will believe

Broken in two
I know you’re onto me
That I only come home
When I’m so all alone
But I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it oughta be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly, you won’t give up on me
And I shall believe

Open the door
And show me your face tonight
I know it’s true
No one heals me like you
And you hold the key

Never again
Would I turn away from you
I’m so heavy tonight
But your love is all right
And I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it oughta be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly, you won’t give up on me
And I shall believe
-I shall believe, Sheryl Crow

Willow felt like dying, her body and soul ached for him, his cool touch, his soft, whispering words. She was lost in an inky blackness, nothing above or below her. Nothing was there but memories. Sweet memories of him, his eyes, like two sapphire stones set in his perfect face.
“I’ll always come for you, Spike,” that’s what she had told him. It was the truth; she just wasn’t sure how yet. She loved him with a power beyond the heavens and the earth, it was all consuming, and it held her in limbo because of it. She was alone, and tired, she drifted into something that could be considered sleep, though where she was, sleep didn’t exist, nothing existed. Time stood still where she was, hours, years, decades flying by in an eyeblink, yet lasting for an eternity. She found herself in her dream, but it was almost too real to be a dream. She saw him, thrashing in his sleep, in the throes of a torturous dream. She moved over him, her hand touching his face, stilling him in a second. He looked up at her and a single tear slid down his perfect face.
“I’ll always come for you, Spike,” she whispered before lying down next to him, holding his head to her breast, calming him.
“Are you real?” he asked at length, not moving.
“Hush, my love, that doesn’t matter now, everything’s fine,” she murmured, stroking his hair. She held him close, feeling him relax in her arms she looked around the room. Dust covered everything, books, portraits, vases, statues; even most of the furniture had accumulated a soft layer of it. She knew why.
He was lost, just like she was, as if he had been split down the middle, and unable to find his other half. Her tears stung her eyes, hating herself for leaving him, unable to make amends. She loathed what she had become, an apparition, a fantasy, a dream. Reality came crashing down around her, thundering in her ears. She bit back tears, holding him close, not willing to let him go. She would never let him go. She felt herself falling, being pulled away from him, and screamed in protest,
reaching for him as he reached out for her. She was back there, surrounded by black, nothing to see, or do, or say. She was simply there. She ached for him; every fiber in her body needed him beside her. She tried to force herself back into sleep, but nothing came. Her heart broke every time she failed, unable to return to him. She had a taste of heaven, only to be sucked back into hell. She waited, sorrow claiming her, tears and howls of pain and loss filling the darkness, but falling on deaf ears. She screamed curses to the heavens, and begged sympathy from hell. Her body shook with the
force of her anguish, until she found her standing, once again, before the mansion, the sun setting behind her. Had she gone back in time? She didn’t care, she hurried towards the door, but found it locked. She rapped soundly on the oak and waited. She heard the bolt slide and the door creaked open. She gasped when she saw him, gaunt and paler than usual. He looked infinitely old, yet
ageless at the same time. Tears of sorrow filled her eyes and her wrapped her in his arms.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come, pet,” he said softly, his voice unchanged.
“I’ll always come for you, my love,” she whispered. She pulled back and held his face. She pulled aside her hair and offered him her neck. He received the invitation gratefully and drank until he was full. She didn’t weaken at the blood loss, nor did she pale, or change at all, for that matter.
“I love you, baby,” she whispered, looking him in the eye.
“I love you too,” he whispered, capturing her mouth, enjoying the sweetness of her for the first time in years. How long had it been? He’d lost track, consumed by his loneliness. But she was here now, and his heart had ceased its timeless wail. She pulled away from him, looking up in his eyes with perfect love.
“I’ll never leave you again,” she whispered, she knew it was a lie, that the morning would take her, once again, to the black place, with no light, no hope, no sky, and most importantly, no Spike.
“Yes you will,” he whispered, tears cutting through his voice, “but you’ll come back,” he whispered.
“I’ll always come back,” she promised, and they both believed it.
 
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