Fic: The Scene <Repost> (1/2) B/W Strong R

ARCHIVING/DISTRIBUTION: Ask if you are of age, yes.

FEEDBACK: Yes!

Note: Yes, it's finally finished.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Scene

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

I stand here staring down at my friends as they laugh and dance together.
The distorted music from the speakers is adding a surreal texture to the
night. My friends don't understand what I'm feeling because I don't feel...
period. I hear Spike's grunts as he nears his climax and I think I should
be embarrassed, or maybe I should feel shame? Yes, I should feel shame at
letting his cold, stiff shaft enter me in such a public place.

My problem is that fighting him is too much of a bother. Why should I fight
him? I used to know; now there is nothing. I am nothing but a walking,
breathing corpse that doesn't know enough to lie down and die. He finishes
and his ice-cold semen trickles down my legs and I think I should go to the
bathroom to wipe it off--but again--that seems like too much trouble.

He mumbles something about darkness and where I belong or is it what I
should be feeling? I don't know, I don't want to concentrate long enough
for his words to make sense. It's enough that he finally leaves me alone.

That's what I want, to be left alone so that I don't have to spend the
energy to pay attention.

"Buffy, What are you doing up here?" I hear Willow ask me. I glance down
at the dance floor and realize that the gang has not only stopped dancing,
but are now standing around me. I hate it when this happens, to be caught
doing nothing, because it means they aren't going to leave me alone for the
rest of the night. They are worried about me.

I drag out what little energy I have to smile at them so that they won't
worry.

"Vamp, there was a vampire up here..." I start, breaking my face in half
with a smile I direct mostly at Xander and Anya. If I let Willow see my
eyes before the mask is fully in place then she will know. "I slayed him
and then I was just checking out the crowd for more." I tell them, keeping
my voice perky, the way the old, non-dead Buffy used to sound. It's just
hollow noise to me but it seems to do the trick for Xander and Anya as they
smile back.

"Hey Cool! The Slay Master General strikes again!" Xander says in that too
loud way he has of talking when he's relieved.

"How many did you get, Buffy?" Willow asks me, stressing my name so I
automatically turn towards her to answer.

'Damn, busted,' I think as I see her eyes widen in recognition.

"One. There was just one," I tell her quickly trying to cover by projecting
perkiness that I don't feel at the Witch. I quickly look away from her and
turn back towards the railing of the balcony. I cross my arms and lean
against it trying to appear casual, but somehow I know it's too late to fool
her. The silence becomes thick with tension.

"Look guys, I think I'm going to do a quick patrol and then head home." I
tell them, I turn back to face Xander and Anya. "Xand could you make sure
that Willow gets home safely?"

I don't really want to go on patrol; I just want to escape the all-knowing
gaze of Willow Rosenberg. She will make me talk and I just don't have the
energy. Just standing here pretending that nothing is wrong is draining all
my strength. I wish I could just lay down on the couch and sleep.

God, I'm so tired all the time, all I want to do is sleep. Except I have
nightmares that aren't really nightmarish until the end.

"No, Xander, you and Anya go home," Willow orders and they obey her.

"See ya, Buff," Xander says.

"Yes, goodbye Buffy. It was a pleasant evening, thank you very much for
inviting me," Anya says as they walk away from me, leaving me with Willow.

'When did she become the boss of everyone? Maybe when I was dead?' I think
to myself and feel an ember of something flare deep inside me, only it dies
before I can really grasp it.

I risk a glance at Willow and realize that she's not going to let me get
away with an excuse this time. She has her resolve face on. I know I could
run from her, but why? It would just delay, not prevent, what's going to
happen.

"So don't you think you should go to the bathroom and clean up?" Willow asks
me.

"Well, that wasn't expected," I reply, not really caring what I say to her.
The next few minutes are just something to be endured. It's a dance that we
have to go through every few weeks. I just want her to finish whatever it
is she has to say.

"I can smell Spike all over you from here," Willow?s voice is a horse whisper. She's angry with me.

And I should care. I really should.

"You saw?" I gather up the strength to walk to the stairs leading
to the dance floor. If she is going to insist on talking to me she can do
it on the way home. She quietly follows me out into the cool fall night. I
can tell that my lack of reaction to her outburst over Spike has more than
worried her, that we are heading into full-out freak, complete with suicide
watch.

They did that the first week I was back. Well, not Xander or Giles, just
Willow and Tara would watch me, never let me alone for any amount of time.
It nearly drove me crazy to be watched, for a Slayer to be watched all the
time drives us wild, like a chained dog unable to protect its family. They
nearly drove me into a frenzy.

A frigid north wind whips up the discarded paper wrappers in the alley and
it cuts right through my coat. I feel her gathering up her nerve to ask me
what's wrong or to tell me I was doing so well... and I don't want to hear
her voice say the words, so I cut her off.

"Why is everything always so cold?" I blurt out. "Is it because I missed
summer?" She still keeps pace beside me, but everything has changed as I
feel her anger draining away into guilt.

And the ember from before is back. It sparks into a tiny flame. I think I
recognize it as anger. Not the projected kind that I can't stop feeling
from the others, but the kind that I used to feel. It's mine, it belongs to
me.

"Look, Buffy, I am so sorry that I . . ." She begins the apology that I've
heard at least a hundred times in the past few weeks and that makes the
flame grow even higher. I revel in this new sense of warmth; I don't want
it to end, so I pull up some of my reserves of energy and throw it at the
anger.

"Willow would you shut up, please," I tell her, stopping in the middle of
the alley to face her. "You want me to forgive you for ripping me out of
heaven, for tearing me apart, to make yourself feel . . ." I pause as I see
her grief and the tears welling up in her eyes; her guilt at her actions
rises up and overwhelms my fragile flame. It smothers the spark as if it
wasn't there.

"I'm so cold . . . ." I turn to continue down the alley towards home, leaving
her standing there.

I pull my jacket so that it's wrapped around me as I watch my feet. I'm
putting one foot in front of the other, hoping that I can make it home.

I'm about to reach the end of the alley when I realize I've gone down to one
knee. It takes a moment for my mind to catch up to my body as I reach up
and behind, stopping a second blow to the back of my head. My spider sense
doesn't go off, so I know it's a human mugger and not a demon. At the same
time, I realize I'm squeezing the mugger's wrist too hard. The sound of his
bones snapping reminds me of Dawn's favorite cereal--Rice Crispies. I
maintain the pressure on his wrist as I stand up and turn around. And I
hear more pops as his elbow and then shoulder are twisted out of joint.

I watch his dirty face, I look into his frozen eyes and I feel kindred to
him. He's lost all hope, all sense that life can be something beautiful,
just like me. But then his face contorts into a mask of agony as the damage
I've done to him breaks through whatever drug he's used to dull the ache of
hopelessness. The scream starts as a low wail, then climbs higher and
higher in one long avalanche of sound that assaults me. It tears at the
wall surrounding me like Willow and her self-centered guilt never could.

Suddenly the flame that had been smothered over and over again by my friends
flares up into one huge inferno. The man's cries adding fuel to the rage
burning deep within me. I can't stand the man, because he is just like me.

He's my mirror.

I have to make the noise stop! I have to stop it before it consumes me! I
can't let the pain out! If I do, if I let the pain out, then I will hurt
her. And so help me God, as much as I hate her right now, I still love her,
too.

"Shut up!" I shout into his face. "Just shut up," I yell at him trying to
get him to just stop. My words are useless as his knees begin to buckle so
that I'm holding him up by his injured arm. Over and over he wails, like a
pitiful wounded animal that deserves to have mercy.

He doesn't deserve mercy. I don't deserve mercy and it's now my face
staring back at me with bright panicked eyes.

I look down at my open hand; I clench it into a claw and see the tendons
clearly outlined against the bone. If my hands can crush bones, what else
could they do? He's on his knees before me, his head tilted back, so all I
have to do is reach down and place my claw around his exposed throat.
Instantly the wailing is choked off. So I lift and then carry him until
he's pushed up against the rough brick wall of the alleyway. I see a flash
of something in his hand, the one that I haven't ruined, and he's hitting me
with it over and over.

Only, now, I feel nothing. Again.

I'm tired.

I'm cold.

I drop the mugger. He lies still in the trash of the alley.

It's too hard to reach down and see if he has a pulse, so I turn away to go
home.

I'm a block away when I hear the siren.

"He stabbed you in the arm," she says behind me. "While you were not
actually killing him, he stabbed you in the arm."

______________________________________________________

TBC in Part 2