|
Title: Pillow Talk Author: Miss Murchison Rating: PG so far, unless references to Christina Aguilera really terrify you Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine. Notes: Now the story begins to deviate from canon.
Thanks:
To
Keswindhover and
The story begins here.
Buffy couldn't remember the conversation with Willow. She was sure there had been one, but she'd been so focused on getting upstairs and alone that she hadn't paid much attention. She did recall Dawn rushing by on her way to school, and Tara's worried face. Tara always looked worried these days, and sometimes there were raised voices in Mom's old bedroom, the one Willow and Tara used now. Buffy didn't want to hear them, so when she couldn't sleep, she'd pull her pillows over her head to muffle the sounds. She'd lie there wondering why she didn't want Willow and Tara in that room. It wasn't the arguing, because she didn't want them there when there was silence or even giggling. It must just be part of missing Mom. Buffy couldn't sleep, even though she was tired. She tried pretending everything was all right and reminding herself she was all alone in the house for hours and hours until the others came back from school, but it didn't work. She wanted to fall asleep so she wouldn’t think, but she couldn't stop thinking long enough to fall asleep. She was on the horns of a vicious circle. She had a feeling she'd gotten that wrong, and that if Giles were inside her brain, he'd be laughing right now. I mean, do circles have horns? And how would they turn vicious? Are there circular vampires or werewolves? Or do they get rabies? She hugged her pillow and tried to concentrate on this geometric problem, but her mind kept creeping back to the knowledge that she really wasn't alone in the house. There was a monster in her living room, and it haunted her non-sleep with its four spindly legs and its nasty orifices filled with horrors. It camouflaged itself with a pretty vase full of fake flowers and family photos in a frame, but Buffy knew it for what it was. It was her enemy, and it wielded weapons that were sure to destroy her. She closed her eyes and saw her mother's fake-antique desk lurking against the wall and laughing, flaunting the ever-growing arsenal of bills in its drawers at her, proud in the knowledge it was the one demon all the Slayer's skills could not harm. Buffy might have done it. The real Buffy might have found a way to deal with the desk-demon and its plumbing invoices and mortgage notices. Willow wanted to bring back Buffy, but she only brought back a maimed Slayer, I think. Buffy's not home any more. But the bills were there, stacked in neat, deadly piles. And whether she was Buffy or the Slayer, or neither, they were her problem.
Buffy stepped out of the Doublemeat Palace's back door and trudged up the alley, fleeing the smell of potatoes frying in vats of fat inside, and of burger remnants decomposing in the dumpster outside. Her mind replayed the conversation she'd just had with the nerdiest looking guy she'd ever met. It isn't fair. I did everything wrong. I waited until the last minute to show up, because I couldn't force myself out of the house until I knew Willow and Tara would be back in a few minutes. I barely apologized for being late for the interview and not filling out the application ahead of time. I showed up in old jeans and an Outkast t-shirt with a salsa stain. I answered in monosyllables. I denied any previous work experience. I'm sure I looked totally wigged out when that guy told me he'd been working for them for five years. She'd expected to be told they'd let her know and then to get a message on her phone saying they didn't need her, unless, of course, they kicked her out the door immediately. Then she could say she'd tried. She could tell herself she'd tried. She point out her trying to the Scoobies and then go out on patrol so she wouldn't have to hear them feeling sorry for her. But the skinny guy in the fluorescent orange and red uniform had said, "You can start tomorrow. You can watch the orientation video from 8 to 10 a.m., and someone will train you right after the breakfast rush." She had a job. Buffy was gainfully employed. Yay. Someone brushed past her, muttering, and Buffy realized she was standing stock still on the sidewalk in downtown Sunnydale. She was doing the wrong thing again. There must be something else she should be doing. I should go home and announce I've got a job working in a hamburger joint for minimum wage and no benefits. Then everyone will congratulate me and try to act like that's wonderful, and they'll probably say it just shows I'm all better now. Buffy is better. Some of the bills will be paid without begging money from Giles. Everything is good in Sunnybrook Farm on the Hellmouth. There will probably be more pizza to celebrate. She was being a child. A silly, ungrateful, useless child, and she was ashamed of herself. I can't go home. Buffy walked across the street and found a seat in a dark inside corner of a coffee bar. She sat underneath some framed stills from old black-and-white movies, plucked at her shirt, and wondered how it could have seemed a good choice earlier and how she could have sunk so low as to try to sabotage her own job interview. Only now did it occur to her that it would have been far, far better to not go at all than to go with the intent of failing. She cringed, imagining what her mother would have thought of her behavior. As a vampire hunter, she was the Slayer, but as a human being, she sucked. Her mother would be disappointed in her. She couldn't take care of Dawn properly. Her talent was killing things, not keeping them alive. And when she'd tried to give her own death, her one true gift, to the people she loved, they'd thrown it back in her face. She sucked.
|
|
Please send feedback to: missmurchison@mchsi.com
|
![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}