Summary: Another late night
visit to a lost lover (Six Months Later)
Edward Hubbard is somewhat
flustered to see his lovely blonde visitor without her faithful shadow. He quietly steps out onto the covered porch
admiring the seemingly ethereal way she glides along the rocky uneven
path. Never before has a woman, not
even his beloved Cora, been as graceful or radiant while heavy with child. Just before sunset he’d ventured into her
corner and set out a cushioned wicker chair and matching table along with a
thermos of hot chocolate. The nights
were growing colder and the damp grass was no place for a lady to sit.
She offers a kind smile and
a small wave when she passes, the simple gesture warming Hubbard’s worn
heart. Several seconds later, her
white-haired shadow jogs up the path wiping a fine coating of dust off his
hands and slipping a stake into the back of his jeans. His scowl deepens when his eyes fall on the
blonde and her jacket… or lack thereof.
Chuckling to himself, Hubbard nods in greeting and returns to the warmth
of his small house.
Buffy’s eyes light up when
she spots the chair and small table.
The night before, it took nearly fifteen minutes for the feeling to
return to her legs after an hour spent on the ground. After moving the chair to her desired location, she lets out a
contented moan as she sinks onto the soft cushion. The thermos’ temptation is more than the slayer can handle. Not caring that her bladder will have her
racing for a bathroom in the near future, she sniffs the fragrant liquid and
takes a hesitant sip.
Comfortable and warm,
Buffy’s attention turns to the empty grave in front of her. She’d been avoiding him for over a week, but
it was time to stop procrastinating.
There were things that needed to be said before she could feel any
closure.
“Of all the people in my
life you were one of the few constants.
Predictable, unchanging, immortal you.
Somewhere along the way I forgot that immortal doesn’t always mean invincible. Maybe you forgot, too. In some ways you were the most fragile one
of all.
Champion. I really hate that word, hate what it’s come
to mean. Especially for slayers and
vampires with souls. Why don’t they
just change it to monumentally stupid?
That’s what it means, isn’t it?
You become a champion and suddenly it’s great fun to be horribly
outnumbered and out of ideas. Yeah, yeah, I know me kettle you pot. Those who swan dive into portals shouldn’t
throw stones and all that.
I used to wis – scratch
that. I used to wonder what my life would
be like if I’d never met you. If you’d
never come along and messed with my mind, made me doubt myself and turned my
black and white world into one big shade of gray. Of course it was only gray
when you wanted it to be, right? All
that soul versus no soul talk was just a load of crap. I never really understood the difference
until after you left. Having a soul
didn’t always make you right and it didn’t keep you from breaking my heart.
I hate the way my
relationship with you affected the way I viewed others. I hate that you lied to me about him. One less vampire with a soul. Why couldn’t you have just said ‘Hey Buff,
guess what, I’m human?’ I know he
wanted you to keep it a secret, but since when are you two best buddies? I had a right to know. Your petty, stupid jealousy might have
ruined everything.
I hate how things ended
with us. I may still be chosen, but I’m
no longer the only one. I don’t have to
live my life apocalypse to apocalypse anymore.
You wanted me to live, didn’t you?
So why do you get so mad when I finally start? Who cares if it happens to be with another vampire? I’m happy and that’s all that should
matter. Which reminds me of
something. I don’t appreciate being
treated like a prize in your stupid testosterone tug of war. What do I
mean? Come on, I’ve seen fourth-graders
with more maturity. You’re both
thickheaded obnoxious… men. Ugh.
What I’m really trying to
say is I love you. Part of me always
will. But I’m not in love you anymore
and honestly, I haven’t been for a while.
Times changed… I changed. I’m
not the perfect little slayer and you’re not the glorious unshakable
champion. There was no happy ending to
that story. I see all your flaws but
you were never willing to see mine. I
can’t be perfect for you and you shouldn’t expect me to be. It’s a shame we never could work it
out. I’d like to think we could have
been friends but who knows. Maybe there
was just too much pain and heartbreak between us.
I’m glad we could
talk. It was nice, you know, without
all the accusations and yelling. Take
care of yourself. We miss you.”
Bracing herself with the
arms of the chair, Buffy precariously rises to her feet. She bends down and presses a gentle kiss on
the headstone, pretending for a moment that the cool marble was a familiar set
of cold lips. With a heavy sigh and
lighter heart she turns on her heel and heads back down the path.
Stepping out from
underneath the cover of an old tree, Spike tosses his cigarette butt on the
ground then glares at the stone and the engraved words. “He died a hero,” he quotes, shaking
his head in disgust. He moves closer
until he’s standing over the empty plot.
“Ha bloody ha, Peaches. I win.”
“Hurry up, Spike, it’s
cold!” Buffy’s voice echoes through the otherwise silent graveyard.
Spike rolls his eyes in
amusement and reaches into the pocket of his coat. “So sorry we can’t continue this conversation. It’s not nice to keep a slayer waiting. Here’s a little something for the
afterlife.” He sets a jar of hair gel
on the grass and dashes off after Buffy.
TBC…