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If You're Crying
"It's not meant to be a strife She knows that if she is lucky, then she will kill it. It is all she thinks that night as she gives in and kisses him.
She wakes up shivering and finds herself in the crypt. She would cry, but she knows that wouldn't fix things. Dawn must be wondering where she is. She doesn't move. He kisses her, softly, at the nape of her neck, then, again, at the place where her neck becomes her shoulder. She knows entirely what she's done, and how many times she's done it. There's no hiding from this. His arms are wrapped around her, one resting on her flat stomach and one lightly gripping her hip. He's holding her to him, not so tight that she cannot breathe, but tight enough for her to feel trapped, bound to him. All he wants is to love her, she knows that. All he wants is to be with her. She can sympathize. "I should go," she says, emotionless. "No," he says softly, holding her more tightly. "Yes," she says, yanking herself out of his arms and looking around for her clothes. She begins dressing without another word or look at him. "When'll you be back?" he asks quietly. She heads out into the sunlight without answering.
When she gets back home, Willow's there, waiting. "Buffy, are you all right?" she asks, worried. "Dawnie called us when you didn't come home. We were really scared -- " "I'm fine," she says. "I got hurt on patrol, and I stayed in Spike's crypt until this morning." It's a weak excuse, but she can't seem to care whether her friend believes it. Willow is the one who brought her back and made her this way, after all. "Are you okay?" Will asks, worried. "Yes," Buffy says sharply. "Where's Dawn?" "She and Tara went to the magick shop to wait with Giles. I'll call them and tell 'em we found you -- " "Don't. I'll call. Just bring Dawn back. I need a shower." "Uh...sure. Buffy -- if you need anything -- " "No. Trust me. You've done enough." Perhaps it is an accusation, or it was meant to be one. She can't seem to remember. "Oh." Willow seems taken aback. "All right. I'll see you, then," she says quietly. "Bye." "Mmm," Buffy responds, going into the bathroom and slamming the door. She hears the front door close, and glances into the mirror. She's a mess. What makeup is still on is smudged, has run from her sweat. Her hair is a rat's nest. And her eyes are still not empty. There is still something in them. She had thought that maybe this would kill it, whatever it was that was eating her and decaying her from the inside out. But it's still there, whatever it is. She can still see it in her eyes. She looks away.
That night, she goes back to the crypt. She feels a slight pang at the way his eyes light up, at how happy he looks. "You came back," he whispers, leaning down to kiss her. She knows that if she shall be lucky, for she will kill it. As he kisses her, his eyes closed, she reaches into her pocket for the stake.
She wakes up the next morning in her own bed. She knows that she is lucky, for she has killed it. Buffy. Lucky. Mirror. |
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