Title: Cold Night Contemplation
Warnings: Angst
Author: Opal
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners, Mutant Enemy, Joss, ETC. This fiction is meant to entertain, not infringe. No profits were made from this. Original character belongs to the author.
Summary: An angsty little *off-canon * fiction that gives the glimpse into the Christmas ritual of a Slayer that is much older, but not quiet aging. You may need to pull the tissues out for this. Usually I write fluffy or sarcasm, but you won’t get that here. Just a warning for my regular readers.
This one shot is a late XMAS prezzie to everyone on my livejournal flist. *hugs* to all of you! ~Opal
Thanks to Meli for betaing. A phenomenal job, and I appreciate your hard work. *hugs*
Buffy walked out into clear, cold, night. Her faithful companion was by her side, trotting along with her. They gracefully paced along the side of the road, earning strange looks from the occasional car that drove by. Walking around with a pointed stake in one’s hand and a rucksack on one’s back will provoke that kind of reaction from those ignorant of the creatures of the night.
She took a sharp turn off the sidewalk, down a narrow path. The ground was hard beneath her feet, frozen earth crunching with each step. With stake in hand, her and her companion continued to walk into the night, towards a light shining in the distance. The wind was brisk, and her ears were quickly numb.
Still she ventured on, moving closer to the light ahead. The only sound other than her footsteps was the sound her companion’s breath and his chains.
Buffy twirled her wooden stake in her hand. Really, she did not need it in these parts. The weather was so cold. The town was sparsely populated, not enough populace for a vamp to survive for any length of time, never mind a whole nest.
It sure made slaying easy these days.
As she rounded the corner, she walked between the gaps in a stonewall to a small log cabin. She could smell the fire she lit earlier to keep her home warm. Buffy slowly approached the steps to the house. Out of habit, she looked around to ensure there were not any nasties ready to pounce on her as she made her way in.
The Slayer walked up the steps and opened up the door. Once her friend was inside, she shut the door and locked it tight. She breathed a sigh of relief as she was now behind the safety of the wards she had put up around her home.
Buffy was well aware that she was a walking prize to any demon, after all what evil thing would not consider it their hallmark achievement to off a 75-year-old Slayer. She was a very young looking 75. She looked more like 35 and holding.
Nevertheless, she was also a very lonely 75.
Which was why she was out in the first place, she was lonely. It was Christmas time again. The only time of year the Slayer would venture out and hate seeing all the families smiling with joy. While they pranced on to the malls, she avoided the walls she once considered to be Mecca. Instead, she made her way to the local magic shop and liquor store.
After she removed her hat, mittens, and coat – which she gently placed by the fire so they could dry quickly – she brought her rucksack over to the couch, where her faithful friend sat down next to her. Buffy leaned down and kissed her friend’s golden fur as he snuggled up next to her.
In fact, Petey would be the only thing she would be hugging and kissing tonight, and for many nights thereafter. She was happy with that, really she was.
Because Petey had never left her side since she had found him several years ago, while out on a walk. He had been cold and hungry, but willing to trust her.
He may have been a dog, but he gave her something she had not had since she was a young adult.
Something she had not had since she had parted ways with Spike.
Trust and Unconditional love.
Buffy lovingly stroked Petey’s head with one hand, while her other hand pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. She put the bottle between her legs, so she could open up the bottle with one hand, and continued petting Petey with the other. Pleased with being able to leverage her slayer skills for something other than violence, she then pulled out a packet of cigarettes from her rucksack.
On the table, she spied the object she desired. She picked up the old silver Zippo and flicked it open. Over the years, she had perfected the art of flicking it open and lighting it at the same time.
It was only once a year, on Christmas Eve when she would actually use it to light a cigarette. Of course, she would cough through the first three puffs, but then she would be fine. It was now that she started to think of all that had been.
She thought of how she never really was right after being brought back from heaven. When she was 40, her friends had finally had enough of feeling disconnected from her. Buffy could not honestly understand what they expected of her. They knew she was a Slayer, that she was the Chosen One.
One. It really is not a hard word to figure out. One. Solitary.
Therefore, her friends ran off and had their families, their lives, and eventually they just lost touch. She did not even know if they were alive or dead. Unlike Dawn. Dawn who was dead.
Not walking undead. Just dead. One morning, Buffy just woke up and found Dawn just as she found her mother. Dawn was 45 when she passed on. No kids. She had had a few boyfriends now and then, but she suffered from the same commitment phobia as Buffy. Surprisingly Dawn had come to accept Buffy as she was, and in fact had come to understand her sister. Rather than move away, they became closer.
When Dawn died, it had been the first time in years that Buffy had been moved to tears. However, it took at least four years after Dawn had passed on before she could shed them.
She raised her bottle of whiskey in salute to her sister and to friends past. She put out the first cigarette in the ashtray and began on the next.
Buffy thought of her love life, or lack thereof. Certainly, she had heard of the big showdown in LA. Her occasional visit to a demon bar now and then would certain provide some information, perhaps not very accurate, but it was still information about the LA Gang.
Looking back, she could see what a no good piece of shit Angel really was. He was a manipulative bastard. All he wanted was a Barbie doll on his arm. Riley had been the same. He wanted his own Barbie version of a girlfriend. Each had their own best interest at heart.
She raised her bottle and mumbled, “Here’s to learning from mistakes.”
Petey agreed and let out a little woof of moral support.
The clock struck midnight, indicating the transition from Christmas Eve to Christmas.
Buffy placed the whiskey down. She pulled a white candle out of the bag. She lit the candle with the lighter. Then placing the candle on the table, she walked over to the chair and pulled the leather duster off it and into her arms.
She placed the final cigarette into her mouth and lit it off there burning white candle.
Physically, he may have left her. Maybe even in his heart after all these years. However, his love, his love was forever and it never left her. His love never left. Unlike anything else. She could not think back about Spike with hate.
She sat back and slowly exhaled.
Moreover, like every year, she whispered a small enchantment that would bless him with happiness wherever he may be.
It was the least she could do, she had recognized a long time a go that her behavior towards him finally drove him to the point of unhappiness that he had not returned to her when he had been resurrected.
As the tears came down her face, she put the cigarette out and padded off to bed. She put herself under her big down blanket. Petey jumped into the bed and curled up next to her.
He offered her his unconditional love and comfort as she cried herself to sleep over the one man whom had given her the same gift decades ago.
End.
_____________________________
Many thanks for reading. Please leave a review.
If someone would like to make a banner for this, I would totally love you! :)
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners, Mutant Enemy, Joss, ETC. This fiction is meant to entertain, not infringe. No profits were made from this. Original character belongs to the author.