Characters: Buffy alone
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Probably not much higher than the show.
Warnings: This is a bit of an angst fest, don’t really know what got into me. Deals with the aftermath of the AR.
Summary: This fragment is set between S6 and S7. Buffy goes to hang out in Spike’s abandoned crypt.
Summers all wrong
The second the door clicked shut, Buffy got up from the couch and frantically gathered her stake and jacket. She’d found out, she couldn’t stay in the house alone. Not when there was no Dawn to keep up the façade for. Her mind would start to wander and all the death would start to seep in from the cracks between the floorboards, it would drip from the ceiling until she could not stand it anymore.
The thought of Tara dying upstairs was the most vivid picture. The single most innocent and understanding person Buffy had known, staring dead and empty at the ceiling, while Willow desecrated her memory by going on a world destruction spree. Willow, who was mostly friendly, quirky, smart and shy when Buffy had first met her, torn apart by rage, grief and magic. A path she had probably never taken, if she hadn’t met Buffy. Like her girlfriend probably never would have been in a bullet’s way, that was meant for Buffy.
Now they were both gone, leaving Buffy alone with Dawn in this house that had never been the same since their mother died. Somehow, mum had made it into a home, and for a while Buffy had been able to keep up, but now it was as if the magic was fading and it was gradually turning into nothing more than a place to sleep. The sensation was so strong that Buffy sometimes wondered when the next best vampire would just wander into their house as if it was abandoned.
She banged the door behind herself in her eagerness to flee the place. The sun hadn’t even set yet, it was far too early for any vampires to make an appearance but she turned towards the cemetery anyway as if drawn by invisible strings. It was the same irresistible pull that makes you scratch open a crusted wound. You know that it will not do you any good, but when it slips your mind, you’ll do it anyway.
She felt the familiar sharp pang of disappointment, when she pushed open the door to his crypt. No matter how often she came here a part of her always half expected to find him there, pale blue in the light of his TV, cigarette dangling from his mouth, some disgusting mix of blood and alcohol in hand and a snarky comment on her intrusion on his lips. The cool act never quite reached his eyes and the gleam of devotion in them betrayed the pretense.
Or maybe it was the devotion that had been the pretense after all, because there was of course only the cold empty crypt to great her. Dust had started to settle on the smashed furniture and knocked over candles. Remarkable, how the place only now registered as a tomb with her, now that he was gone.
At least it was a peaceful one. She sat down on the remnants of a chair and let the silence wash over her. The place still felt like a sanctuary to her. A place where no masks were needed, no role had to be played. A retreat where she could just be her, even if there was no one to talk to anymore.
Willow, Tara, Giles and Spike, the ones that could take honesty were all dead or far away, leaving her with Dawn and Xander. The last thing Dawn needed were issues on top of her own. She needed a Buffy that would make the best out of what was left, somebody she could rely on, somebody who’d stop her from amassing even more abandonment issues than Buffy herself. She didn’t need more complications, she didn’t need to know to what degree her sister was damaged.
Of course Xander was still there for Buffy, even if he had his own problems to solve, he had said so. Repeatedly. You can tell me everything, spoken in that voice that said as long as it is what I expect you to say. She sighed. When had the distance between them had become so big? Right after Spike had assaulted her she had been so glad Xander was there, but now it was becoming harder and harder to deal with him. He acted as if he expected her to burst into tears of suppressed trauma at every given moment. Whenever Spike’s name fell this expectation hung in the air, for her to say that she’d kill him, if he ever showed up again, for her to express righteous anger.
She knew he was right, from where he stood, she should feel that anger. Not that she didn’t, it never had been hard to feel angry at Spike. But how was she to explain that things were no longer that simple, when she could not even explain it to herself? How could she explain why she ended it up here, almost every night? How could she explain that she missed Spike?
She rolled her eyes at herself even as she thought it. Yeah, girl, you’re not messed up at all, first you pine for years after a man , who decides your relationship is no good for you without even asking your opinion on the matter and now you move up from missing the patronizing heartbreaker to missing your would-be rapist.
And how come she did miss him? Even if she had survived relatively unscathed how many of his victims had not? Murderer. Monster. Rapist. All these things spelt good riddance. So why the hell was there a part of her that felt it had lost its only true companion? Someone she could prowl the night with, someone who was as much at home in the dark as she was, a partner in crime, from whom she didn’t have to hide the cruder aspects of her nature.
She climbed down to the bedroom, taking in the familiar slightly musty scent of stale cigarette smoke hanging in the old rugs.
There were so many things Dawn and Xander didn’t know, could never know without turning from her. The things she and Spike had done to each other down here and all over town for one, but more importantly how she had felt about it. Those few sharp edged emotions conjured up with Spike that had made it through to her heart after her resurrection. The rush of having so much power over another being, how she could punch, kick and bleed him and he’d still stay. There had been so many occasions where she could have just staked him, but instead she chose to play. Had watched with a sick fascination how the monster offered her over and over what the men had not been able to give her: An emotion so strong that it broke down all boundaries of sanity.
How many no’s had ended up as yes down here, or just as grunts, moans and screams? It isn’t rape when he’s hard for you, is it? Sex that felt like driving a razor blade through your soul to know it is still there. Finally finding someone who is just as messed up as you are. Who can give as good as he gets, someone you never have to feel guilty with.
Her movements were robotic as she went over to the bed, shedding her clothes on the way and slid naked under the covers.
Memories of hard bodies clashing violently together, nails scratching frantically over skin, teeth drawing blood, the smell of seared flesh – she barely needed to touch herself. It never took her long to come. Not here.