A/N: Just got Ghost of the Robot's "Mad Brilliant" in the mail. Had an urge to write.
Set post "Dead Things", any time before "Seeing Red."
***
She trudged in through the door, absolutely exhausted. Flinging the Doublemeat uniform aside, the Slayer dragged herself by sheer will to the kitchen.
She had almost forgotten about her sister until she saw the note.
Buffy,
I'm sleeping over at Janice's tonight. Cya tomorrow.
Love,
Dawn
Part of the Slayer wanted to yell at her sister then, for running off on a school night without okaying it with her first. At the very least, Buffy felt she should call the Penshaws' and check up on Dawn.
But there really was only one thing she wanted at that moment. And she wasn't getting it, not ever again. No more going down the path of temptation. That would be wrong.
Wrong
.These past days had been just a little too much for her to handle. What she needed now was some cheerful salsa music. Anything to keep her mind away from dwelling on what her body wanted.
The Slayer switched on the radio and frowned. N'Sync, again. Someone had changed her settings, again. When her sister got home there would be hell to pay. Buffy sighed, trying to find her station and failing miserably. It was somewhere around there; she was very close to finding it. Hyperactive Slayer fingers twisted the dial, over and over again, then slowed, slowed…stopped. There, back a bit. The sweet guitar music caught her attention, causing the Slayer to pause in her manic search for her 24-hour salsa music station.
She comes home to me after a hard night's work,
Falls in my arms and sleeps like a bird.
Sweet, yet another sentimental love song, sung softly by a voice that reminded her so very much of...so not what she needed. Buffy raised a hand to change the station, but the new words stopped her cold.
Startle, wakes up, like she don't know me,
Cocks back her fist like she's going to slug me.
Like, who are you anyway
And what are you doing to me?
An odd lump began to form in her throat. She told herself it was because of that disconcerting voice. So oddly familiar, yet like nothing she'd ever heard before in her life.
She's an angel—
But she can't see it.
She's got wings—
But she can't feel 'em.
She's an angel—
But she can't see it.
But she's flying above me every day,
Every day of my life.
She swallowed. So not going to think of the connotations those words brought. And yet the lump kept coming up.
Bright diamond eyes with daggers beneath them,
She carries the chains of a million decisions
That weren't even hers to begin with anyway.
But she carries them all;
All the people around her
Never even notice that she's very, very tired.
The lyrics pierced a part of her that the Slayer had thought was left behind in heaven.
She's an angel—
But she can't see it.
She's got wings—
But she can't feel 'em.
She's an angel—
But she can't see it.
But she's flying above me every day,
Every day of my life…
She snapped the radio shut.
Buffy swallowed again, hard. She felt cold, and the hot tears running down her frozen cheeks only emphasized her coldness, made her feel it ever more keenly.
No, no. That silly music had nothing to do with her. It was sung by some stranger who had no possible idea of what she was going through. A stranger with a remarkably disconcerting voice, no doubt. But it was sung about and by strangers, no more, no less.
She wasn't intimidated, no way, not the Slayer. Just to prove her point, Buffy switched on the radio again, same setting.
Too-bright salsa music blasted back at her. From the 24-hour salsa station, of course.