The night was possibly worse than the day.
Her body still remembered her routine. As soon as the clock struck midnight, her hands would begin to itch. She had never wanted to touch wood as much as she did now. Somewhere out there a fledge was digging itself out of the earth.
And she was stuck in a hospital bed.
The frame was metal but had caved in places where her hands had grasped. She felt tiny sitting on the mattress, her whole body swallowed up by sheets of light blue and white. Her hands ghosted over the bedspread which covered her. The nurse had brought it in earlier, tucking in the corners as if she would dart out of bed. They all treated her like a child, hushed voices chatting in the hallways but never inside of her room. They knew what she was, even if there was no special annotation on her chart.
Perhaps they thought she deserved it.
Ricochets of what she had done and rippled through society. It was small at first. People she didn't know, couldn't possibly have met would stare at her, their mouths wide and their eyes accusing. She hadn't known what to say and in a moment of pure fear become Anne.
Anne didn't have a past. She was just a waitress, working in a nameless diner with a boss that resembled a Star Wars villain. She had to wear a ridiculous 1950's esque outfit but it was all reasonable. Her mind didn’t feel like a whirlpool of emotions and her heart… her heart wasn't broken. It was only when she went to visit Dawn at the apartment that the truth would sink in.
She had changed everything. It was her fault.
And Angel's.
Something akin to disgust lodged in her throat as she considered the vampire. It had always come back to him at some point. As much as she tried to run from their past, prove that she was over the whole undead Romeo and Juliet romance, it kept recurring.
She had told him once that when he kissed her she wanted to die. Maybe the last time it had finally rung true. If she never saw Angel again it would be too soon. Buffy heaved a sigh, her hand subconsciously brushing the raised bite marks on her throat. He had taken a piece of her like all the others but whilst she had killed the Master, dismissed Drac and left Spike, Angel had continued to take from her. It was as though his fangs had stayed attached to her body, constantly draining her of the ability to move on, to forge a new life.
It felt like she had been living two lives. In one she was still a sweet sixteen year old girl, moon struck and in love with someone so much older and darker than she could imagine.
In her other life Angel didn't exist.
Somehow the two had managed to merge. She had become a full girl all over again with a life that didn't involve him until he showed up and ruined it.
And Spike had played the role of the absent man.
It had been acceptable after their shared history. Of course he wanted to have his own life but did that mean acting as though she didn't exist? In her heart Buffy knew that she had loved him. But what did that love mean? Now that she was just a body, how could she ever face him? Rage coiled in her muscles and before she knew it she was punching the mattress surrounding her. She was so angry at both of them.
It was an irrational rage that had festered ever since he had burned to nothing in the hellmouth. It was like he had known that she would never be at peace and refused to give her anything to hold onto. He had rejected any future with her, whether or not he survived.
But he had, he did survive, she thought. He existed for over a year without letting me know anything. And now this?
Buffy looked around her room, wishing for what felt like the thousandth time for a window. Dawn had requested that they place her in a room without one. Her little sister had assumed that after falling from Glory's tower, six stories would be simple.
The only difference would be that she wouldn't go to heaven. She was certain of that much.
And Spike was coming to remind her of it.
She had moved into Xander and Dawn's for a week, directly after it happened. There had been a funeral service for Giles and she had made herself attend, citing her own death and wake. Dawn had told her that it was the right thing to do, that she had to face it. But all Buffy had seen was Faith, the prodigal daughter and accusing stares.
She could accept it. As Buffy she had to take the blame. But Anne? Anne had a whole life full of the normal and mundane. Her mind had latched onto the idea like a survivor at sea clung to the wreckage. They, that massive group of people who hated her, would never know about Anne.
It was such a stupid idea: become Anne and pretend nothing ever happened. She had assumed so confidently that things would settle into some kind of routine and that maybe everybody would forget that she, the Buffy Summers of untold power ever existed.
And boy had she paid for it. Xander had asked her to leave almost instantly. Willow's loss of magic had hit him personally. Almost instantly Willow had disappeared, cutting off communication. Buffy had accepted it but Xander? Xander could only see that Willow was hurt because Buffy had chosen a vampire and sure they had been best buddies in Scotland but things changed. He treated her like she had personally ripped the heart out of Willow.
Maybe she had.
Buffy had refused to involve Dawn. How could she when her sister had actually found someone to be happy with? She'd ducked out the night after Spike visited and moved into the apartment above the diner.
And now he was coming to see me? To laugh in my face? The questions immediately filled her with a sense of shame. Spike didn't have it in him to be cruel. He had stopped caring years ago and nothing would change it. Especially since I fucked Angel.
She scooted forward to the edge of the bed, grimacing at her awkward position. Her right leg or what was left of it felt heavier than normal. When she thought to move it she would have to remember that there was no knee to bend anymore. It made things almost impossible. The moment she felt that dead weight her arms would shake and she'd fall back into the mattress.
But she couldn't do it now.
If Spike was coming, and a part of her doubted that it was true, then she needed to get gone. Dawn had probably told him the address and Buffy had never doubted Spike's ability to find someone. But she wasn't ready yet.
Mind made up, Buffy began to push herself forward. Tears began to flow but she shoved the threatening waves of self-pity to the back of her mind. She could cry all she wanted but she was not going to just sit here and wait for his cobalt eyes to stare and well up with pity? Boredom?
The idea of him feeling anything for her in this state made her want to punch something. She wouldn't let it happen.
Summoning every ounce of resolve, she wrapped her hands around the stump, bottom lip quivering and moved it to a more comfortable position. And then she scooted forward again.
It took four more attempts before she reached the edge of the bed.
"There", she said with satisfaction. She hadn't dared to move before now. Dawn had left a wheelchair in the room but it felt too real. She had never used it.
"First time for everything." She tested her jaw, moving her mouth around as she considered her next move. It was stiff and painful but that was nothing new. Slayer powers without the residual magic were bound to be less than extraordinary. In her heart, Buffy wondered whether the Slayers had cast anything during their beating. If she had been as pissed off as they… She closed her eyes, breathing in and out as she would before a particularly hard exercise. It was useless to think of what they had done to her. It was over. She was a Slayer no more.
She fell to the floor in a heap, her weak left leg catching most of her weight. I should've been working on maintaining strength rather than feeling sorry for myself. The reprimand was instant but as she started to drag herself across the floor she knew it wasn't realistic. If she wasn’t a Slayer then why would she need to train?
Why would she do anything?
Her one reason for moving now was to escape Spike. She started for a moment, fear welling in her throat as someone passed down the hallway outside her door. The shuffling footsteps were too heavy to be him but it reminded her of Dawn's words. He was coming and he wouldn't waste time.
The floor was cold to her skin and the nightgown she wore flared out around her. She tried to crawl but the sensation of her leg, stump , hanging in the air was too much. Instead she lowered her body until she was against the floor, hands pulling and scraping.
Finally her hands grasped the metal bars of the wheel chair. Dawn had assured her that it was one of the best. Xander might hate her but he was willing to splash out on the top of the line ride for a former friend. Buffy squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, willing away the raw emotions. She couldn't think of him at a time like this.
I have to keep moving. And go where?
Suddenly the weight of everything crashed into her.
She was alone.
She had no friends to help her.
She had nowhere to go.
It wouldn't change now or even when Spike traipsed into the room full of bravado.
Alone The word haunted her almost constantly since the incident. Dawn had taken to calling her nightmare the 'incident' and Buffy had slowly found herself referring to it with that horrible word as well. What else could she call it? She wasn't dead so it wasn't a true death. But it had been a death of some sort. They had killed her, murdered the Slayer without ripping out her heart.
"But I'm still here," she whispered. "They didn't take everything."
Just the ability to function. I can't move, I can't run, I can't slay…
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She had been dancing around it for so long. What was she if not the Slayer?
The wheelchair seemed to loom above her, a trap that she had allowed herself to fall into. Angel may have helped her become this body, this thing but it was not all one-sided.
No matter how much she wanted it to be.
Positioning her body was difficult but eventually she managed to get her legs behind her, hands steadfast on the ground as she reached for the seat itself. The wheelchair rocked from the pressure, its brakes threatening to release as she scrambled and jerked her way onto the seat. Her arms were a tangle as she shoved her back against the chair. It made her feel so small. The back of the chair reached to the tip of her crown. Gingerly she tested the wheels. They were large spokes, impossibly sturdy looking. Dawn had told her that it would become second nature to use them.
She couldn't believe it.
Entranced by her ability to actually move again, Buffy pushed the wheels and sent herself flying into the opposite wall.
The resounding thump of her collision was worse then the pain that flew through her limbs. Buffy barely registered her own shocked gasps as she pushed herself off of the wall. She could move. She didn't have to crawl along the ground.
Fresh tears began to run down her cheeks but she didn't try to stop them this time. She had hidden in that bed for so long that even this small movement, this ability to change, felt like a miracle. She forced her hands to spin the wheels again, not caring when her muscles began to burn. She careered about the room, her face bright with elation. It wasn't perfect but in this moment it felt like everything. Worries about the future fled her mind in the long minutes that passed.
And then she stopped.
There was somebody at the door and then it was opening. She heard the whine as the person pushed it aside, their light footfalls sounded unnatural in the night air. Stupid Buffy. I should've been gone by now.
And then he was behind her and the thrill was nothing compared to the smell of leather and cigarettes.
"'Lo love."