Title: Did You Cry?
Author: The Deadly Hook
E-mail: deadlyhook@stakeme.com
Disclaimer: Not mine. All belong to Joss Whedon and Co.
Rating: G, some reference to things you may have seen on the glowy television.
Feedback: New at this. Be nice.
Site: www.stakeme.com
Summary: Immediately post "As You Were." Just came to me. Buffy internal vignette.
.........Just rest for awhile, she'd thought.
That had been a couple of hours ago, when the sun had been bright in the afternoon sky. It was low now, casting long shadows across her bedroom wall. Dawn had come home from school some time ago. She'd heard the door, downstairs. Open, close. Sounds of Dawn's feet stomping up the stairs, then back down again. Now she could hear more soft sounds drifting up from below - dishes rattling in the kitchen, muffled voices, the soft chatter of the TV.
It'll be dark soon.
Her fingers picked at the threads of her bedspread, smoothing the fabric under her hand. She felt too warm from lying there so long, the sunlight on her back. Her clothes were starting to crease and pinch.
She shifted position slightly, felt the pendant around her neck move on its chain, the metal a little cold against her skin. She caught it with her fingers and toyed with it, her eyes falling on the sleeve of her blouse as she moved her arm. The color was so pleasant to look at. Mauve she thought idly. Or lilac... lavender. Nice color. Cheerful. Nice.
Nice to wear something pretty for a change. Something girlish. Not work clothes. Not slay clothes....
Not turtlenecks so no one asks about the hickeys on my neck.
She watched the shadows move on the wall, knowing that if she turned to look at the window she'd see the tree branches waving, a cool breeze shifting the leaves. She could hear the sounds of kids playing some game outside, their shouting voices carried on the wind.
The streetlights would be coming on soon.
Dinnertime. Willow might even cook, if I ask her to help me. I should go downstairs. Go in the kitchen. Talk about normal things.
She wondered if they even knew she was home.
She imagined it, just going down there and walking into the living room, the kitchen, wherever it was they were standing and talking. It was her house, after all. Saying hi, how's it going? What's for dinner?
They'd wonder why she was back so early.
Not a big deal. "No work today," she'd say. "Just thought I'd take a nap. Lost track of time." Then they'd have dinner, maybe make a bowl of popcorn, and watch videos. Have a girls' night. Turn in early.
No patrolling. No going out. The town can get by without me for one night. Stay in. Just rest. Just tonight.
No walking through silent streets. No chill night air, or bright moonlit sky. No fighting monsters. Just her living room and TV and popcorn and soda and sister and friend.
Nothing more than that.
Even with her eyes closed, she could tell that the sun had gone down. She could no longer feel its heat against her back. She opened her eyes, and watched the shadows soften on the wall. Considered turning on her bedside lamp. Warm, golden light. Chase the shadows away.
She watched the patterns moving on the wall instead.
A week ago, she might have been on her way to patrol already. Get the night's work started early. More time left over for after hours, for the lost time that didn't fit in anywhere.
Which was not a good thing, she reminded herself. And I won't miss it. Him.
Really, she'd been getting bored with it anyway. For the best, definitely. No more wasting that kind of time, no more hiding. Wrong to have been so weak. To have gotten so lost in it. Stupid. She'd forgotten who he was. Who she was. All of it. Just wrong.
There was chill air moving through the room now, fingers of wind reaching through the window frame, strong gusts rattling the glass.
She wondered vaguely if he might come to her house, now that the sun was down. Try to see her, talk to her. She imagined him moving purposefully through the streets, coat billowing, streetlamps casting shadows on his face. Walking to her door. Talking to Dawn. Asking to be let in.
He wouldn't do that. He knows I meant it. There'd be no point.
The room was dark now. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness. She found herself looking at the strip of bright light from the hallway under her door.
No, he'd be there, in his place. Upstairs now, since that's all that was left, really. Not much of the downstairs, where she'd spent so much time. Not that it mattered. Just a place. Didn't mean anything.
He might be sitting there now, upstairs, with the TV on. Maybe lighting a few candles. Doing whatever he did when he was there by himself. Smoking. Drinking. Reading a book.
Sitting alone in the dark.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Sat there, staring at the light under the door. Laughter from downstairs. Some show on TV. Phony applause.
The other night, when she'd come, he'd been reading a book. She'd discovered that about him, between other things. He had a lot of interests. Music, books, his beloved TV. Childish, really, how much he enjoyed those things. He would have loved having a VCR.
Candlelight had always made the place seem warm. Not like a cold place at all.
She thought again about going downstairs. She lay back down on her bed instead, and wrapped her arms around herself.
She felt cold.
I shouldn't even be thinking about this, she told herself. It's done. Over. Like I told him. Have to be strong about it.
She thought about the happiness in his eyes when he saw her.
"I always want you."
When she asked him to tell her he loved her.
"I can explain."
The same look that was always there for her.
She thought about his face, when she'd told him. When she'd punched him, for what must have been the thousandth time. What he looked like bloody and hurt. The look in his eyes when he'd seen her, that first time, after she came back. When she'd first touched him, in that broken-down house. All of it.
She wondered if she'd seen all of his expressions by now.
She wondered if he'd seen all of hers.
A week ago she would have marched in there like she owned the place. Maybe argued a little, maybe ask him to patrol with her, maybe just jump straight to it. It didn't matter to him. A week ago - hell, a day ago - he would've been waiting for her.
She'd have to walk past his place now, on patrol. Knowing he was inside. Knowing that he'd want to see her, even now. She hated herself for knowing that.
Because even now, it wasn't too late. She knew it wasn't. She could go back and tell him she wasn't done using him yet, and he'd open his arms for her just the same.
She watched the light blur a little under the door. Melt into a fuzzy strip of nothing. Just a vague glow.
Like candlelight.
Her eyes felt hot.
No. I'm not going to cry about this. That would be stupid. Stupid. The whole thing was... stupid. I mean, really... Spike. What the hell was I thinking?
Her sweaty shirt felt cold against her skin, and she hugged herself tighter, cupping her elbows in her hands. Her chest hitched once.
Laughter from downstairs.
Things will be better now. I'm taking charge of my life. Like I'm supposed to. Making decisions. Not just letting things happen. Not just... trying to forget.
But that was the worst part, really, wasn't it? Because it wasn't about him. It never had been. He'd just been there. Kept being there. Kept being there and understanding, even when she didn't want him to. It didn't matter what she did. She could sit here and think of his face, and how hurt he looked, and know that it still wasn't him she felt sorry for.
Never him.
She turned her face into the pillow. It felt cool against her cheek, then slowly warmed from her breath. She inhaled the fresh laundry smell and told herself that it didn't matter that her eyes were burning. Not like anyone would ever know. She was alone up here. So what if the pillow was wet now, under her face, or that her nose starting to run, or her chest was burning from holding it back... oh, it hurt, it really hurt. She let out a sob because it felt better to do that.
None of it mattered.
Not like anyone knew she was even there.