'She hangs around the boulevard,
She's a local girl with local scars,
She got home late, she got home late,
She drank so hard the bottle ached.'
No, she told herself for the hundredth time, I'm not going to start that again. Slowly, she unwrapped her hand from around the now crumpled carton of cigarettes. Her eyes hardened, and she deliberately stalked over to the waste can behind the house and resolutely tossed the carton in. A few of the cigarettes spilled out of the pack on top of the rubbish, shining like beacons.
"It would be too low to grab those now," she reprimanded herself as her regret at throwing away her cigarettes squeezed tightly around her stomach. Stiffly, Buffy turned away from the garbage can, and stalked back into the brightly lit house on Revello Drive. Both Joyce and Spike looked up from their mugs of hot chocolate when she entered, both looking slightly relieved at her presence.
"So," Joyce's voice lingered in the kitchen, "Are -- are you both going to be staying long?"
Buffy sighed noncommittally, her hands wrapping around her mug, "We're here for the holidays Mom, but other than that, we figure the sooner we get out of here the better."
"Oh," Joyce nodded, her shoulders slumping in disappointment, "Of course. Things might be a little tense."
"A little?" Buffy snorted derisively, "A lot tense is more like it."
Spike nodded, "She's right. The quicker we get our business done, the less trouble we stand to make. I reckon the Scoobies might not be so accommodating to our presence."
'And she tried, and she tried, and she tried,
But nothing's clear in a bar full of flies.
So she, she takes, and she takes,
She takes, and she takes --
She understands when she gives it away.'
Joyce just nodded her hands tightening imperceptibly around her mug, "It's getting late and you must be tired." She strode over to the sink and emptied the remainder of her drink down the drain before washing it carefully and placing it on the rack to dry, "Where are you staying?"
"Holiday Inn."
"Oh."
Buffy shot a glance at Spike and he nodded, handing her his cup he rose from his seat and pulled on his duster, "I'll just go warm up the car." He left quickly, leaving Buffy and Joyce standing across from each other in the kitchen.
"He seems nice."
Buffy shrugged, "He takes care of me."
Joyce turned away from the sink to stare at her daughter, her arms crossed across her chest, "Do you love him?"
Buffy turned away, her own arms coming up across her chest. The silence stretched out between them and Joyce moved towards her daughter, her arms coming up to rest lightly on her shoulders. Buffy turned around, the ghost of a smile softening her face, "Yea, actually, I really do. I don't think that could've lasted this long without him. These last two years …"
Her words trailed off.
'She says, Man, I gotta get out of this town,
Man, I gotta get out of this pain,
Man, I gotta get out of this town,
Out of this town --
And out of L.A.'
"So, I guess it means that I should give up all hope of grandchildren."
Buffy shrugged, "Who knows."
"The important thing, is that you're happy."
Buffy's smile grew watery and her vision blurred. Instinctively, she reached for her mom, pulling her into a tight hug. Joyce returned it fiercely, hugging her tightly against her chest, her own tears rising in her eyes, "I'm so sorry Buffy."
"Me too, Mom. Me too."
'And she cried, and she cried,
And she cried, and she cried,
She cried so long her tears ran dry,
And she laughed, and she laughed,
She laughed, and she laughed --
Cause she knew she was never coming back.'
Spike leaned against the side of his car, a Marlboro hanging loosely from the side of his mouth. His head was turned upwards and he studied the stars aimlessly. He was lost in thought when he heard the voice faintly through the night air. He straightened, stubbing out his cigarette as he turned around, "Buffy?"
Once again the voice wafted over to him, clearly calling his name. He started away from the car towards the middle of the street, "Buffy?" He called out her name again, peering into the shadows that stretched out in the moonlight. Only the wind answered him.
He jumped at the hand that touched his shoulder, whirling around quickly he prepared himself to face whatever demon may be waiting for him, and found himself face to face with Buffy. A wry smile touched her mouth as he fell out of his battle stance, "Trigger-shy, much?"
He didn't return her smile. Instead his eyes searched the darkness which seemed to have expanded around them, "I thought I heard something."
Buffy followed his gaze, letting her Slayer senses loose, "I'd say we're all alone."
Spike shrugged, "Must just be this place getting to me."
Buffy nodded, "Yea, it does that."
'Man, I'm gotta get out of this town,
Man, I'm gotta get back on that train,
Man, I'm gonna get out of this town,
I'm out of my pain --
And going back to L.A.'
She's a local girl with local scars,
She got home late, she got home late,
She drank so hard the bottle ached.'
No, she told herself for the hundredth time, I'm not going to start that again. Slowly, she unwrapped her hand from around the now crumpled carton of cigarettes. Her eyes hardened, and she deliberately stalked over to the waste can behind the house and resolutely tossed the carton in. A few of the cigarettes spilled out of the pack on top of the rubbish, shining like beacons.
"It would be too low to grab those now," she reprimanded herself as her regret at throwing away her cigarettes squeezed tightly around her stomach. Stiffly, Buffy turned away from the garbage can, and stalked back into the brightly lit house on Revello Drive. Both Joyce and Spike looked up from their mugs of hot chocolate when she entered, both looking slightly relieved at her presence.
"So," Joyce's voice lingered in the kitchen, "Are -- are you both going to be staying long?"
Buffy sighed noncommittally, her hands wrapping around her mug, "We're here for the holidays Mom, but other than that, we figure the sooner we get out of here the better."
"Oh," Joyce nodded, her shoulders slumping in disappointment, "Of course. Things might be a little tense."
"A little?" Buffy snorted derisively, "A lot tense is more like it."
Spike nodded, "She's right. The quicker we get our business done, the less trouble we stand to make. I reckon the Scoobies might not be so accommodating to our presence."
'And she tried, and she tried, and she tried,
But nothing's clear in a bar full of flies.
So she, she takes, and she takes,
She takes, and she takes --
She understands when she gives it away.'
Joyce just nodded her hands tightening imperceptibly around her mug, "It's getting late and you must be tired." She strode over to the sink and emptied the remainder of her drink down the drain before washing it carefully and placing it on the rack to dry, "Where are you staying?"
"Holiday Inn."
"Oh."
Buffy shot a glance at Spike and he nodded, handing her his cup he rose from his seat and pulled on his duster, "I'll just go warm up the car." He left quickly, leaving Buffy and Joyce standing across from each other in the kitchen.
"He seems nice."
Buffy shrugged, "He takes care of me."
Joyce turned away from the sink to stare at her daughter, her arms crossed across her chest, "Do you love him?"
Buffy turned away, her own arms coming up across her chest. The silence stretched out between them and Joyce moved towards her daughter, her arms coming up to rest lightly on her shoulders. Buffy turned around, the ghost of a smile softening her face, "Yea, actually, I really do. I don't think that could've lasted this long without him. These last two years …"
Her words trailed off.
'She says, Man, I gotta get out of this town,
Man, I gotta get out of this pain,
Man, I gotta get out of this town,
Out of this town --
And out of L.A.'
"So, I guess it means that I should give up all hope of grandchildren."
Buffy shrugged, "Who knows."
"The important thing, is that you're happy."
Buffy's smile grew watery and her vision blurred. Instinctively, she reached for her mom, pulling her into a tight hug. Joyce returned it fiercely, hugging her tightly against her chest, her own tears rising in her eyes, "I'm so sorry Buffy."
"Me too, Mom. Me too."
'And she cried, and she cried,
And she cried, and she cried,
She cried so long her tears ran dry,
And she laughed, and she laughed,
She laughed, and she laughed --
Cause she knew she was never coming back.'
Spike leaned against the side of his car, a Marlboro hanging loosely from the side of his mouth. His head was turned upwards and he studied the stars aimlessly. He was lost in thought when he heard the voice faintly through the night air. He straightened, stubbing out his cigarette as he turned around, "Buffy?"
Once again the voice wafted over to him, clearly calling his name. He started away from the car towards the middle of the street, "Buffy?" He called out her name again, peering into the shadows that stretched out in the moonlight. Only the wind answered him.
He jumped at the hand that touched his shoulder, whirling around quickly he prepared himself to face whatever demon may be waiting for him, and found himself face to face with Buffy. A wry smile touched her mouth as he fell out of his battle stance, "Trigger-shy, much?"
He didn't return her smile. Instead his eyes searched the darkness which seemed to have expanded around them, "I thought I heard something."
Buffy followed his gaze, letting her Slayer senses loose, "I'd say we're all alone."
Spike shrugged, "Must just be this place getting to me."
Buffy nodded, "Yea, it does that."
'Man, I'm gotta get out of this town,
Man, I'm gotta get back on that train,
Man, I'm gonna get out of this town,
I'm out of my pain --
And going back to L.A.'