Title: After the Hours 1/1
Author: Lora Darcy
Email: lora_darcy@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Feedback: Pretty please!
Spoilers: set in a vague point late in Season 7 Buffy-verse, overall themes of the Hours
Distribution: ff.net, TTH, anyone else just please ask first!
Summary: An Oscar-winning film challenges Buffy's outlook on life. One-shot.
Author's note: Okay, I watched "The Hours" last night and decided to write this fic. I'm still not sure of my own personal feelings regarding the movie and its themes. So, please feel free to send me your own comments, etc….
After the Hours
Buffy sat, silent and still. Tears poured down her cheeks. Soon her cries turned to harsh sobs and her body heaved. As her small chest strained a heartbreaking moan escaped her lips. Her sorrow could not be contained.
The doorbell rang.
Buffy rubbed at her cheeks. She tried to wipe her tears away, tried to stand up. She knew she had to go to the door.
But her body refused to move. Buffy stayed on the couch, hiccupping back tears. The doorbell continued to ring.
Its handle turned. Whoever was on the other side would no longer wait for Buffy to answer. Panicking slightly, Buffy again wiped at her face, desperately trying to disguise her unhappiness. She looked around the sofa, frantically trying to locate her VCR remote. She had to turn it off before anyone came in.
"Buffy?"
Still she searched for the remote. Her tears had finally slowed, but the slayer was unable to prevent a melancholy gasp as she struggled for breath. Her hiccupping continued.
Feeling slightly more daring, Buffy managed a quick glance towards her doorway – towards Spike.
"Oh bloody hell," the vampire muttered, noticing the music coming from the television set. "You watched it again, didn't you?"
Slowly, Buffy nodded her head. Once more, the despair seemed to overwhelm all her senses. Again, tears welled in the corner of her eyes. She sniffed.
"They're not you." Spike said gently, coming into the room. "You're different." He turned off the television set, silencing the haunting score. Credits no longer rolled across the screen. It was done.
"But- I am…. I was…." Buffy shook her head helplessly. "I'm not different. All I ever wanted was…. The chance to live. Really live. Live my own way. Not for someone else. Not to be…. Stuck in this…. Stuck fighting…."
"You're different love." Spike insisted, in soothing languid tones. He sat down next to her, a weak smile on his face. "You're not afraid. You're already free. Already doing what you want to."
Buffy gazed at him wonderingly.
"You said it yourself. 'The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.' But you have. You are. Living, that is. And you don't need to run away or anything to do it. You've got a room of one's own. Or you will, some day at least, when the time is right. But you're on the way."
"But Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf, that Laura person –"
"Are different." Spike interjected. His haunting green eyes traveled over the slayer's tearstained face. "You've got what it bloody takes. To live. To grow. To find happiness. To continue to be happy. To love. To do it all…."
A slow smile began to creep across Buffy's face. Spike was right. She would live. Really live. Some day soon, Buffy was going to figure it all out. Be happy. Be at peace. Because she could do it. She would know life. She could outlast The Hours. She would learn to love them.
Buffy leaned over and kissed Spike.