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Conversations About Dead People, Ch.23
I actually wrote something! Two somethings! (Numfar! Do the dance of Shock!)
Sunnydale, June 2002
Buffy looked around the room, at the combination of her and Willow’s boxes, and sighed. This room swap was a good idea–Willow shouldn’t have to live everyday, inches from the stain of Tara’s blood, and Buffy thought that maybe a new room could help her too- but the actual swapping was proving to be somewhat difficult. Who knew it was possible to acquire this much stuff. She and Xander had been working steadily for two weeks to move everything over and there were still things spread across her floor that she had no idea what to do with.
Toys she should’ve given up when they moved into the house, shoes that had mysteriously lost their mates, clothes too ripped or bloodied to save, and a fair amount of things that belonged to Dawn and would have to be dealt with when she got back from Janice’s (and Buffy had called this time, because she’s responsible, and she can do this guardian thing, she can).
Of course there’s also the item clutched in her left hand that she dug out of the very farthest corner of her closet and has been staring at for at least three minutes. She looks at the stripy walls, and the towering boxes, and the clothes, shoes, toys all over the floor, and she has the sudden, manic desire to laugh. Because of all the things that might blend in, in this room, a black leather duster doesn’t even make the list. Especially his black leather duster. She’ll have to put somewhere. The basement?
Just then, Xander wanders through her door, weighed down with what appears to be the final two boxes of Willows clothes. When he sees the coat in her hand he stops dead. Fear chases concern chases anger across his face before it settles on forced neutrality.
“Buffy? What’s that?”
“Spikes coat.” She replies, voice tempered, never for a second forgetting that the last person to touch it, before her, was Xander.
He continues in the even, polite tone that they use to discuss Spike on the rare occasions he comes up (they use it to discuss a lot of things. Spike, Anya, Tara, Giles, Willow. Mostly Willow. Buffy hates it.). “Where’d it come from?”
She frowns. The closet door is open and it’s empty for the first time in more than five years. Where does he think it came from?
“The closet.”
“The clos- Buffy, why do you still have it? And why were you keeping it in your closet?”
“Because I had to put it somewhere! I had to get it out of sight, before Dawn saw it and started asking questions that I really didn’t want to have to answer! And we all had more important things on our minds than a stupid coat!”
“It’s not about the coat! It’s about who it belongs to! I just don’t understand why you didn’t throw it out! Or burn it, or-or chop it to pieces with an axe. Why did you just leave it in your closet?” Xander sagged against the doorframe. “Buffy you don’t…still have some feelings for him? Do you?”
Her head snapped up, startled. “ No! Of course not! How can you even ask me that after-?”
“But you still have the coat. Why?”
“Because,” she replied, “He’s going to want it back. And ‘you can’t have your coat back because I burned it,’ isn’t really a conversation I want to have with Spike. Or anyone. Ever.”
From the way Xander was staring, this explanation was not as obvious to him as it was to Buffy.
“Do you want him to come back?”
Of course that’s the question. The one she has no satisfactory answer for. The one that flits across her mind, when she lets herself think of Spike at all. Of course that’s the question Xander wants answered.
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah. It matters. You’re the one who thinks he’s coming back.”
“It has nothing to do with what I want, he just is! It’s what he does. He leaves, he comes back. Like a fangy boomerang. Besides, Clem said he’d be gone awhile. Not forever. Ergo, coming back at some point.”
It had made sense when she’d thought it out, that horrible night a couple weeks back, when thinking about Spike had actually been the comforting alternative to thinking about all the other horrible things that had happened (Tara dead on the floor, and Anya with powers, and Warren minus the skin and Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow).
Xander exhaled slowly. “So let’s say he does come back. What are you going to do? Hand him his coat and send him on his merry way?”
“I don’t know! Okay? I haven’t really thought about it. Maybe we’ll fight. Maybe he’ll take the coat and actually stay out of Sunnydale. Maybe he’ll go back to his crypt, and leave us all alone.”
“Maybe,” Xander mumbled to the floor, “You’ll put a stake in his heart.”
Buffy flinched (I’ll make you feel it. You can’t do it. You can’t kill me. I know you felt it, when I was), and before she could stop them, the words flew out of her mouth. “I might have kind of a problem killing someone who’s been inside of me.”
They both froze. In the ringing silence that followed, the front door swung open and Dawn cried out, “Buffy? Are you here? Janice’s little brother started throwing up, so they sent me home.”
Buffy shook herself. “We’re upstairs!”
They listened as Dawn made her way to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and promptly closed it again. “What’s for dinner?”
Xander offered Buffy a slight smile and called out, “Order a pizza! I’ll go pick it up!”
Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. They were back on familiar ground. But still. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That wasn’t. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Buffy held out the coat. “Put this in the basement for me on your way out?”
He took it. “No guarantees it makes there in one piece.”
“Xander…”
“I know, I know. I won’t do anything to it.”
…….
After he left she crept down to the basement. The coat was no worse off than it was when she last held it, and something tightened in her chest (she was only half sure he’d listen to her, and she was only half sure she wanted him to, and fuck but they’re really grown-ups now), and she needs to call a Scooby meeting, like, yesterday, even if the only ones present would be Buffy and Xander and Dawn (and the ghosts. Mustn’t forget all the ghosts who smile and soothe and snark and take up way more space than they should).
When she gets back to the kitchen, Xander’s returned, pizza in hand, and he’s trying to convince Dawn that adding cold sardines to her slices will, in fact, make the pizza worse.
Buffy smiles at the sight and feels the knot in her chest loosen. She takes a deep breath.
“Guys? I think maybe we should talk.”
Sunnydale, June 2002
Buffy looked around the room, at the combination of her and Willow’s boxes, and sighed. This room swap was a good idea–Willow shouldn’t have to live everyday, inches from the stain of Tara’s blood, and Buffy thought that maybe a new room could help her too- but the actual swapping was proving to be somewhat difficult. Who knew it was possible to acquire this much stuff. She and Xander had been working steadily for two weeks to move everything over and there were still things spread across her floor that she had no idea what to do with.
Toys she should’ve given up when they moved into the house, shoes that had mysteriously lost their mates, clothes too ripped or bloodied to save, and a fair amount of things that belonged to Dawn and would have to be dealt with when she got back from Janice’s (and Buffy had called this time, because she’s responsible, and she can do this guardian thing, she can).
Of course there’s also the item clutched in her left hand that she dug out of the very farthest corner of her closet and has been staring at for at least three minutes. She looks at the stripy walls, and the towering boxes, and the clothes, shoes, toys all over the floor, and she has the sudden, manic desire to laugh. Because of all the things that might blend in, in this room, a black leather duster doesn’t even make the list. Especially his black leather duster. She’ll have to put somewhere. The basement?
Just then, Xander wanders through her door, weighed down with what appears to be the final two boxes of Willows clothes. When he sees the coat in her hand he stops dead. Fear chases concern chases anger across his face before it settles on forced neutrality.
“Buffy? What’s that?”
“Spikes coat.” She replies, voice tempered, never for a second forgetting that the last person to touch it, before her, was Xander.
He continues in the even, polite tone that they use to discuss Spike on the rare occasions he comes up (they use it to discuss a lot of things. Spike, Anya, Tara, Giles, Willow. Mostly Willow. Buffy hates it.). “Where’d it come from?”
She frowns. The closet door is open and it’s empty for the first time in more than five years. Where does he think it came from?
“The closet.”
“The clos- Buffy, why do you still have it? And why were you keeping it in your closet?”
“Because I had to put it somewhere! I had to get it out of sight, before Dawn saw it and started asking questions that I really didn’t want to have to answer! And we all had more important things on our minds than a stupid coat!”
“It’s not about the coat! It’s about who it belongs to! I just don’t understand why you didn’t throw it out! Or burn it, or-or chop it to pieces with an axe. Why did you just leave it in your closet?” Xander sagged against the doorframe. “Buffy you don’t…still have some feelings for him? Do you?”
Her head snapped up, startled. “ No! Of course not! How can you even ask me that after-?”
“But you still have the coat. Why?”
“Because,” she replied, “He’s going to want it back. And ‘you can’t have your coat back because I burned it,’ isn’t really a conversation I want to have with Spike. Or anyone. Ever.”
From the way Xander was staring, this explanation was not as obvious to him as it was to Buffy.
“Do you want him to come back?”
Of course that’s the question. The one she has no satisfactory answer for. The one that flits across her mind, when she lets herself think of Spike at all. Of course that’s the question Xander wants answered.
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah. It matters. You’re the one who thinks he’s coming back.”
“It has nothing to do with what I want, he just is! It’s what he does. He leaves, he comes back. Like a fangy boomerang. Besides, Clem said he’d be gone awhile. Not forever. Ergo, coming back at some point.”
It had made sense when she’d thought it out, that horrible night a couple weeks back, when thinking about Spike had actually been the comforting alternative to thinking about all the other horrible things that had happened (Tara dead on the floor, and Anya with powers, and Warren minus the skin and Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow).
Xander exhaled slowly. “So let’s say he does come back. What are you going to do? Hand him his coat and send him on his merry way?”
“I don’t know! Okay? I haven’t really thought about it. Maybe we’ll fight. Maybe he’ll take the coat and actually stay out of Sunnydale. Maybe he’ll go back to his crypt, and leave us all alone.”
“Maybe,” Xander mumbled to the floor, “You’ll put a stake in his heart.”
Buffy flinched (I’ll make you feel it. You can’t do it. You can’t kill me. I know you felt it, when I was), and before she could stop them, the words flew out of her mouth. “I might have kind of a problem killing someone who’s been inside of me.”
They both froze. In the ringing silence that followed, the front door swung open and Dawn cried out, “Buffy? Are you here? Janice’s little brother started throwing up, so they sent me home.”
Buffy shook herself. “We’re upstairs!”
They listened as Dawn made her way to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and promptly closed it again. “What’s for dinner?”
Xander offered Buffy a slight smile and called out, “Order a pizza! I’ll go pick it up!”
Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. They were back on familiar ground. But still. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That wasn’t. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Buffy held out the coat. “Put this in the basement for me on your way out?”
He took it. “No guarantees it makes there in one piece.”
“Xander…”
“I know, I know. I won’t do anything to it.”
…….
After he left she crept down to the basement. The coat was no worse off than it was when she last held it, and something tightened in her chest (she was only half sure he’d listen to her, and she was only half sure she wanted him to, and fuck but they’re really grown-ups now), and she needs to call a Scooby meeting, like, yesterday, even if the only ones present would be Buffy and Xander and Dawn (and the ghosts. Mustn’t forget all the ghosts who smile and soothe and snark and take up way more space than they should).
When she gets back to the kitchen, Xander’s returned, pizza in hand, and he’s trying to convince Dawn that adding cold sardines to her slices will, in fact, make the pizza worse.
Buffy smiles at the sight and feels the knot in her chest loosen. She takes a deep breath.
“Guys? I think maybe we should talk.”