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Title: Pillow Talk Author: Miss Murchison Rating: NC-17 overall Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine. Notes: A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon. A slight change in circumstances, a different decision or two, and you wind up with very different results.
Thanks:
To
Keswindhover and
Buffy had a new friend at last. The pillow on the couch was her friend. It was a perfect friend. It was soft and brown and comforting against her cheek, and it never made a fuss or wanted anything. Buffy had been lying with her face cuddled against the pillow for hours, the silence of the house broken only by the low drone of the television. She had no idea what show was playing and made no effort to turn her head and find out. She'd turned the set on so that if anyone came in she could pretend she was taking an interest in something. And in all those hours, the pillow hadn't asked her a question, or looked at her as if wondering why she wasn't making a joke, or told her something was broken in the house, or screamed for rescue. It hadn't minded that she hadn't moved for ages. Buffy decided her pillow thought catatonia was good. No, said the voice in the back of her head. Buffy hated that voice. It always sounded like one of the Scoobies. Sometimes, it sounded like all of them at once. Catatonia is bad. Buffy is bad. Bad Buffy not to enjoy coming back to life because we wanted you. Bad Buffy not to put your friends' needs before your selfish desire not to be anything at all. Bad Buffy not to laugh and smile and make us feel better as we pile all our problems on your shoulders. She should sit up. Stand up. Make the long and difficult trek into the kitchen and eat something. Or, at least, she should search for another word. Zen. Not catatonia. Lying here like this was zen. That was better. It was zen to lie as still as the corpse she had once been. She consulted with the pillow, and it seemed to like the word too. At least, it didn't argue with her. It didn't make a disapproving noise or look as if it was confused that she didn't want to use this valuable time to heap thanks on it for her continued existence. Buffy had no clear idea what "zen" actually meant. She hoped that no one would come along and explain it to her, partly because she would probably have to go on another exhausting mental search for a new word, but mostly because it meant she would have to talk to someone. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She didn't want to do anything. She didn't want to move. She would have to move eventually, of course. Sooner or later, there would be something that needed to be killed and she would have to rush off to bestow on some ungrateful demon the sweet death she wasn't allowed to keep for herself. And then people would congratulate her and encourage her to take up the life she didn't want, to smile, to talk, to face the pile of bills on her mother's desk, to look for a job. Buffy snuggled deeper into the pillow. Nice pillow. It didn't think she had to do any of those things. While she was with her pillow, she could pretend she would never have to get up again. The pillow was lying, of course, but Buffy didn't care. She was a liar too.
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Please send feedback to: missmurchison@mchsi.com
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