[ A small, sealed letter tucked into an inner pocket of Spike’s leather duster, addressed to— ]
Buffy,
I’m writing this watching you sleep next to me for the first time, snow falling soft outside the window. If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. (If I’m not gone, you’d best return my coat, then come find me and smack me around and kiss me about it.)
I love you. Know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I’ve meant every one of them. I know you can’t always figure out why, but it’s obvious, to me. I love you because you’re brave and clever and funny and the only Slayer who figured out you need love to win it. You know how much love matters. Hold mine inside you when you feel lost.
Gone back to Sunnyhell to keep an eye on Dawn and make sure your Scoobs aren’t being idiots, I reckon. Don’t worry about me or them.
Jacket’s yours. Whatever you want in the crypt’s yours. (Whole crypt’s yours, if you want it. Leave some pizza crust out for the kittens.) Give Koby my book of shit poems from the summer, give Nat my pencil liner. Kick Armand’s face in for me.
I’ll see you soon, love.
Yours (always), Spike
[ And on a second sheet of paper, a type-written copy of Again and Again by Rainer Maria Rilke: ]
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names, and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others fall: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lie down again and again among the flowers, face to face with the sky.
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💌 letter
Buffy,
I’m writing this watching you sleep next to me for the first time, snow falling soft outside the window. If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. (If I’m not gone, you’d best return my coat, then come find me and smack me around and kiss me about it.)
I love you. Know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I’ve meant every one of them. I know you can’t always figure out why, but it’s obvious, to me. I love you because you’re brave and clever and funny and the only Slayer who figured out you need love to win it. You know how much love matters. Hold mine inside you when you feel lost.
Gone back to Sunnyhell to keep an eye on Dawn and make sure your Scoobs aren’t being idiots, I reckon. Don’t worry about me or them.
Jacket’s yours. Whatever you want in the crypt’s yours. (Whole crypt’s yours, if you want it. Leave some pizza crust out for the kittens.) Give Koby my book of shit poems from the summer, give Nat my pencil liner. Kick Armand’s face in for me.
I’ll see you soon, love.
Yours (always),
Spike
[ And on a second sheet of paper, a type-written copy of Again and Again by Rainer Maria Rilke: ]
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.