full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
 
Chapter 3
 
<<     >>
 


    “So... we have... financial... what?”

    Buffy was still wet from the broken pipes, tired from her late night slaying, confused by everything. She’d made herself tell Willow thank you. A cold, cold lie. Without having someone to talk to, the resentment was building harsh inside her. She’d asked after Spike. Somehow she’d felt like he could... she wasn’t sure. Hear her. She’d never been able to fool him, not about anything. But he had disappeared one day. Dawn had found ash on Buffy’s grave. It was assumed he’d waited for dawn, and been taken by the sun.

    Dawn had gone into hysterics. It had taken them a week to get her to talk again. And at first, she’d been willing to speak only to the Buffybot. Eventually she’d cried on Tara’s shoulder, and gotten sort of human again, but it had been a scary month.

    “I’m afraid the mortgage, and the phone bill, and your mother’s hospital fees, and–”

    “I can’t focus on this right now,” Buffy said.

    “But–”

    “You sort it out,” she said.

    “Buffy...”

    “You’ll have to sort it out,” Buffy said, more fiercely this time, but without any real inflection. She stood up and walked out of the room.

    Willow and Xander and Tara were left staring at each other. She just... she didn’t care at all?

    “She can’t just do that,” Xander said.

    “Looks like she just did,” Tara said with a grim certainty. “I don’t think she’s coming back.”

    “So what do we do?” Willow asked.

    “What you should have done from the beginning,” Anya said, kind of annoyed. She had a nagging feeling that this shouldn’t have been quite this hard. Buffy should have been part of this discussion. But... she’d just washed her hands of it. “You’ll have to do something else.”

    “Like what?”

    “Get a job?” Anya said to the two college students.

    The two witches stared at her as if she’d just suggested cutting their own throats. “But... what about college?” Willow asked.

    Anya shrugged. “What about it? You’re the one who insisted we don’t tell anyone she was dead. That would have expunged most of her debts, or transferred them to whatshisname... Hank.”

    “But Dawn...”

    “But Dawn what? If she’s not a key, she’s just a girl, and what’s wrong with a girl living in Spain? Or foster care?”

    “No!”

    “Then you figure out the money problem,” Anya said. “You shouldn’t have let it get away from you this summer. If you’d been focusing on how to make this house work, rather than the resurrection spell, expecting Buffy to just magically make money out of slayer strength the moment she popped up out of the ground, like some kind of magical mushroom, then this wouldn’t be such a big deal.”

    There was a sullen silence.

    “Well,” Anya relented. “There is one other idea. Buffy would have to sign off on it.”

    “What’s that?”

    “Sell the house.”
 

 

***

 


    “So what did you and Angel talk about?” Willow asked.

    “Not a lot,” Buffy said.

    “Well, you went all the way down there.” Willow had felt rather proud of herself, calling Angel. Angel could snap her out of this funk, she was sure of it. But Buffy had come back still pretty funky, and not very communicative. “It must have been pretty intense.”

    “Yeah. It was that.”

    She didn’t sound like she meant it. Buffy had come in to a house in some chaos. Giles had been released from the hospital, but he wasn’t allowed to live alone – and wouldn’t for some months while he recovered and went through physical therapy. So he had been moved into Dawn’s room, and Dawn was still debating staying on the couch, or putting up a camp-bed in the basement. She was not being gracious about the move. Tara had cooked dinner – she was good at that – but Willow and Anya had been discussing finances all day, and they were pooped. They kept squabbling at each other over the table. The squabbles had only barely stopped when Buffy came in.

    “So... have you given any thought about what you’re going to do?” Giles asked.

    “Yeah,” Buffy said. “I’m going to bed.” She looked to Dawn, and it was pretty clear she was forcing herself to do so. “You okay, sweetie?” she asked.

    “Yeah, I’m fine...” Dawn said.

    “I meant, what are you going to do with your life,” Giles said.

    “I’d have meant, how are you going to fix these bills,” Anya pointed out.

    “I don’t... really care,” Buffy said honestly. “I guess I’ll... try and figure it out later.”

    “I thought you could audit college, with us,” Willow said. “College is important.” She glared at Anya as she said it.

    “I suppose it is,” Buffy said. “I guess I’ll do that, then. Goodnight.” She headed up the stairs.

    Dawn followed her. “Buffy... are you okay?”

    “I’m fine.”

    “It’s just... I think we expected you to... I don’t know... be a little bit more excited. By Angel... by everything. I mean, you came out of hell. Angel knows what that’s like, right? Didn’t it help to talk to him?”

    “No,” Buffy said dully. “No, it didn’t.”

    It should have, but it didn’t. She hadn’t been able to tell him the truth. He kept on and on about how wonderful it was to escape hell, and how it was going to take time to adjust to a life without pain. He was so glad she was back.

    Back. In Sunnydale. Alone. While he went back to LA.

    She’d spent the whole visit wanting to stake him.
 

 

***

 


    “So what’s up with you?” the bartender at Willy’s asked.

    “Today totally sucks,” Buffy said through slurred and drunken lips. “Stupid Buffy, too weird for schoolwork, and freak Buffy too strong for construction, and the so-called job at the Magic Box? Busy-work placate labor ‘cause they didn’t know what else to do with me! I was murderously bored even before the hour that wouldn’t end!”

    “So... why take it out on us?”

    “Because you were here!” Buffy shouted. She kicked him in the stomach one more time and hoisted him up to face level. “Tell me! Who’s targeted me! What’s with the time-freaks and the magic mummy hands and the demon attacks! Someone’s gotta know!”

    “I don’t have any idea!”

    “Yeah, lighten up, slayer!” said a demon she’d already beaten to within an inch of his life.

    Buffy casually broke his neck and turned to the rest of the bar. “Anyone else wanna tell me I’m not handling this right?

    There was dead silence. Most of the patrons were already dead, anyway. What few weren’t piles of dust or gaping corpses or oozing unconscious wounded were staring in terrified silence at the rogue slayer, who had broken the informal truce at Willy’s bar. A lone kitten scampered across the floor.

    Buffy let the bartender live, snatched up a bottle of something alcoholic – she had no idea what – and stalked outside. A black van she’d been noticing all day was parked outside. Okay. Taking a swig of her liquor she went up to it.

    In a cloud of red smoke, a devilish demon appeared out the back of the van. Buffy could barely hear his threats through the ringing in her drunken ears. “Rrrah! You have discovered me! But... but do not try to defeat me, for I have been testing you and I know your weaknesses. Ha ha ha!” Buffy smacked him with the bottle of booze. It shattered over his head, and he fell.

    He looked up in dismay as the van started and drove off, leaving the demon alone with one – as Spike would have put it – incredibly brassed off slayer. “Um... um, wait,” the demon said. “I...”

    She didn’t wait. She broke his demonic neck. It was surprisingly easy.

    It wasn’t until after she’d staggered off that the spell faded, and the dead demon slowly morphed back into Buffy’s old school-mate, Jonathan Levinson. His helpless face stared into nothing, an expression of betrayal and disbelief still painted on it.

    Buffy saw his name on the front page of the newspaper the next day. “Huh,” she said, not really feeling a lot about it. “Didn’t I know him?”

    “He gave you your Class Protector award,” Xander reminded her.

    “Oh,” Buffy said. “I’d forgotten about that.”  

 

 
<<     >>