Live For Me
The clicking sound unique to her cash register sounded again and again as she ran the items through the red scanner that played a criss-crossed pattern on her stiff vinyl smock. She stared at nothing as she reached out to take the man’s credit card, the monotony of her job giving her a strange kind of freedom in its routine. Here she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to react. Just scan the stuff and charge the guy.
Sometimes the reality of her job hit her hard. There she was, working long hours at some grocery store, mindlessly doing the same things day in and day out. Or night in and night out. The irony of her situation did not escape her; she, a former warrior for the light now spent her days living in the darkness of the night. It was pathetic really. She was the Slayer for crying out loud! No, not the Slayer. A Slayer. One of many. She missed the days when she was the only Slayer, with the exception of Faith, kind of like the Lone Ranger of the Cemetery, Huntress of the creepy-crawlies that go bump in the night. She missed the days when her muscles ached from a night of major demon ass kicking, instead of a night of hunching over her cash register.
Looking up as if to ask the Powers That Screwed Her Over Royally how, exactly, she had found herself in this hellhole, her eyes watered from the glare of the bright fluorescent lights that hung from the dull gray beams overhead. Wiping the moisture away, she turned tiredly to the next customer.
Willow stood smiling at her, and she couldn’t help but think that her once best friend looked out of place in the hard, flat surroundings of her workplace. Her hair hadn’t gotten any less red over the years, she noted.
“How you holding up, Buffy?” Willow asked, knowing full well that her friend wasn’t capable of holding anything up any more, let alone herself.
“I’m fine,” she replied, too tired to give any other answer. It wasn’t that it took all of her energy to drag herself to this place every night; she was still a Slayer, after all, and it would take a lot more than pushing groceries across a scanner for hours on end to drain her. This job was part of it though, as was getting up every night at sunset, throwing herself back into bed at sunrise. She was, quite simply, tired of living.
Her friends had all moved on without her, on into the bright daylight, leaving poor Buffy to wander in the shadows. Even Dawn had left her, she thought bitterly. Her own sister. Gone off to college, got a job, got the life she’d always wanted. The life Buffy had always wanted.
“Buffy? Buffy?” she looked up to find Willow still there, staring at her with concern. At that moment she couldn’t take anymore. She couldn’t stand to look at her best friends, at anyone that reminded her of Sunnydale, of who she used to be…of him.
“I’m fine Willow,” she said again, trying to sound like the old Buffy did. She knew Willow didn’t buy her act for a second, and that her busy friend would not push her any farther. That’s right Willow, she thought, You’ve come to pay Buffy a visit. Do you feel less guilty now? Is that another obligation you can check off on your list? Well, Buffy’s still alive, so you can just toddle on now back to your cushy little life and leave me alone! She hated the fact that she thought these things about her friends, hated that she took a strange kind of pleasure in thinking them. As Willow smiled weakly at her and turned to leave, she was glad.
Walking home she felt a familiar tingle run down her spine. She held her breath, smelling the damp, stale scent of the streets as she did. Turning around slowly and cautiously, she looked up into the face of a man she thought she would never see again.
“Hello Buffy.” He stood there in front of her, looking just the same as he always did. Her heart leapt into her throat, the increasing pace of its beat reminding her that it was still there, albeit forgotten.
“You’re dead,” she choked out. Seeing his eyes run over her, assessing her appearance, she suddenly felt strongly aware of how she looked. Her messy unclean hair now made her uncomfortable, the dry skin of her hands, the ragged, too-large clothes that hung on her bony frame all took her attention. For the first time in years, she felt a twinge of shame about the way she appeared. Wanting to push these thoughts from her mind, she whispered again, “You’re dead.”
He smiled and she felt something inside her tremble. “Since when has that ever stopped me?”
“No Spike,” she shook her head to emphasize her point, “You’re really dead this time. Not undead, not kind of dead. Really dead.”
“I am.” Looking into her hazel eyes, he couldn’t stop the horrible feeling of loss that flooded him. His loss of her, her loss of herself.
“Why didn’t you come to see me?” she asked, finally voicing the question that had tugged at the remains of her heart for years, since that day.
“You know why pet,” he answered softly.
Her eyes filling with tears, she bit her lower lip and stared at her feet. “Didn’t you love me?” she asked, afraid to meet his eyes.
“Oh Buffy,” he whispered, taking her into his arms. Her tears flowed freely now, running down her face and pooling in the lines of his duster’s leather. “I never stopped. I had to do certain things with my life, and in the end, I just didn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to.” He gave a dry chuckle, his voice tinged with bitterness, “Ironic, innit? Vampire, with all of eternity, an’ I didn’t have enough time.”
She was calmer now, and wiping her tears away, she asked, “Spike, if you’re dead, how’re you-”
He smiled broadly, his eyes shining a kind of pride she wasn’t used to seeing in him, “I’m still helping people Buffy. The Powers gave me a bit of a mission y’know. They said I might just get into heaven after all.”
“Wasn’t saving the world enough?”
Getting no answer from him, she concluded it wasn’t. “Does this mean you can stay here? With me?” she ventured.
“No. I can’t stay long Buffy.” His grim answer crushed any hope she held for their happy ending, leaving her even emptier than before. He looked down at her, his blue-eyed gaze searing into her, filling her with a strange kind of light warmth. “I know how you feel, love. I know that empty dark hole deep inside of you that eats everything away, until there’s nothing left. I need you to fight it.” His hands were gripping her arms tightly, almost painfully.
“I can’t,” she whispered weakly, too ready to give up, to give in to her own desperation.
“Yes, you bloody well can. You’re the Slayer, and you’re better than this. Better than the hellhole you live in, than the things you surround yourself with. You need to move on from here Buffy, to where you should be.” The look in his eyes was unbearable, heated and piercing, as if he could see her soul.
“I should be with you,” she said.
Wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, he cupped her face, savouring the moment. “I can’t stay long,” he said again. “I need you to promise me something Buffy.”
Receiving no response save a quiet sob, he continued, “I need you to promise that’ll you’ll keep on living, no matter what.”
She met his gaze, and shaking her head, she said, “I can’t.”
“Buffy!” his voice was becoming increasingly urgent, “I need you to promise me. Live for me.”
Tears running down her cheeks, she choked out, “I promise.”
Hugging her to him, he kissed her softly. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.” Stroking her hair, he let the tears he had been holding back fall. He could feel himself being pulled away, and cursed the impatient Powers.
“I love you,” she murmured into his chest. She felt a sudden tugging sensation, then opened her eyes to see nothing but the deserted street in front of her.
As she turned away to make her way home, she thought she heard the faintest whisper behind her, filling her with a burning warmth.
“Love you too.”
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