She hadn't been sitting outside long. She'd walked out, well, more like stumbled out, after she'd talked with her mom. Joyce was heading back to the hospital: seemed the little nothing was turning into a big something.

Her gut had still been throbbing from the attack the night before, and her eyes had started burning as the tears of frustration had welled up. Her mom would be taken care of, and she'd come home just fine. Once they did whatever they needed to, she'd be good again, and back to lecturing Buffy to be nicer to her sister.

Then why did she have this sinking feeling that she was going to lose her?

The tears of frustration had turned into tears of grief as she'd really wondered what would happen if her mom wasn't there anymore. There was an ache in her chest, deep down in her heart, that refused to leave. She'd ducked her head, hoping to hide and cry it out as quietly as she could've. She hadn't wanted her mom to worry.

Then she'd heard the faint chink-chink, and her head had whipped up. Spike had been standing in front of her, a shotgun held firmly in his right hand. His lips had been pinched tightly, and fury had burned in his blue eyes.

"What do you want, Spike?" she asked miserably. She didn't think she could handle too much more at the moment. Yeah, she'd pushed and put him down, but how many times had he tried to kill her?

The heart is weaker to attacks than the body. Wasn't that the truth.

He still hadn't said anything yet. He was standing in front of her, and he was glaring at her now.

Fine, she'd get the ball rolling. She wasn't stupid, despite her hair color: she knew what he was here for. "Go ahead: kill me," she said, sitting up and straightening her shirt. Might as well give him an easy target.

Spike's eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a snarl as he hefted the gun up. He might have a headache for a few hours, but it was probably worth it to him. Get rid of the Slayer now, suffer a little pain later. She sure as hell didn't want to have suffer any longer, either.

Because deep down inside, the ache was getting stronger, with the horrible resignation that her mom wouldn't be okay. This little thing was going to be THE big thing that made her grieve and scream and weep and beg for some sort of way to end it all, so she didn't have to deal with a world with no Joyce Summers. Her mom was her constant, and if there was going to be a world without her, Buffy wanted no part of it.

Might as well get it over with now and let Spike get the credit for her death. He certainly deserved it after everything she'd put him through.

She closed her eyes, and the movement caused a single tear that had been welling in her eye to roll down her face. She heard a soft click, and sat and waited.

Silence reigned. When it continued to reign for more than a minute, Buffy opened her eyes. Spike was lowering the gun, and his fury was gone. He was gazing at her now, eyes taking in everything. She blinked, sending another tear she couldn't seem to stop down her face, and his eyes locked onto the crystal proof of her inside ache.

The gun lowered even further, until the nozzle was brushing against the grass.

Buffy's eyes widened slightly as she realized he wasn't going to shoot her. Anger began to boil inside, furious now that he wouldn't end her misery right here and now. It was an irrational thing, a part of her mind registered, but she wasn't feeling very rational at the moment.

"Well?" she snapped. "Shoot me already. What, the Big Bad can't handle a few tears? You've probably caused more than that. A monster like you can't help it," she spat. Anything to get a rise out of him.

But his gaze didn't waver, and if anything, the gun lowered even further, the nozzle resting firmly on the ground.

"Give me a break, Spike. C'mon, isn't this what you wanted? Here's your chance to mark that third notch on your belt: one more Slayer down for you," she said, giving him the patronizing grin she knew he hated. "You said you were waiting. This is your ‘one good day', isn't it?"

Spike stared at her, blinking in surprise at the venom in her voice. Or maybe it was because of his own words being shot back at him from the one person he least expected to quote them. Whatever the reason, it was enough to reach something inside of him; she saw the change on his face almost immediately.

He hefted the gun up once more, and her heart skipped a tiny beat at the chance for it to be over, for her to not have to grieve over what was going to happen. Instead of pulling it into position, however, Spike tossed it to his right, letting it trip its way to a forgotten place amongst the grass and dirt.

In a flash she was pushing herself up and at him, shrieking at the unfairness that even her worst enemy wouldn't have the guts or the decency to end it. She began to punch at his chest as he grabbed her to push her away, and the sharp lines of his chest began to blur into one big watery splotch as tears gathered once more. Her punching faded to distressed pounding, and her legs were giving way, letting her tumble not so gracefully onto the ground. The ache in her chest grew to a point where she thought her heart would burst, and it seemed to propel her jagged sobs out into the open.

He went down with her, his arms that had tried to push her back now pulling her closer. "It'll be all right," he whispered with a tenderness she didn't think he'd ever have for her.

"N-No it won't," she gasped, burying her face in her hands. "She's...I know she's not...n-not gonna..." The mere thought of her mom not being all right was enough to send her back into hysterics.

"You don't know that," Spike told her. "Could be anythin'. Your mum's been through worse; she'll pull through again. You'll see."

"I just..." Buffy gulped down oxygen and tried to explain to him how very wrong he was, because she knew. "I know, Spike. She's not gonna...gonna make it. Not this time."

She continued taking deep breaths, the last few tears subsiding. The soft chirping of crickets accompanied her ragged breathing, creating a mournful symphony.

"Then she's not gonna make it. Don't make her last days painful by havin' to bury you, and sure as hell don't make Dawn's days a misery by leavin' her, either. You're stronger than this."

"That's one of my main ‘ties' gone," Buffy snapped, shifting uncomfortably in his arms. He stiffened beside her, and she felt a tiny twinge of guilt for what she'd said. He'd said it first, though. Fair game to toss it back at him.

"One gone, one gained," Spike said softly. Buffy turned to glance at him, frowning with confusion at his words. One look at the gentle determination on his face, however, was enough to tell her who she'd gained. But...his good day...?

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. She didn't understand why he was being so gentle, so good to her after what she'd said and done, but she...wasn't minding all that much. Not really.

Spike blinked, before he began to smile sadly. "I know," he whispered.

They gazed at each other for a moment, before she turned back to stare at the house. He shifted to sit beside her and gazed with her, both pairs of eyes watching the glow emanate from the house of warmth, love, and family. A glow that would soon leave.

His arms remained wrapped around her, and Buffy let them stay that way.