Subject : Slayer Diary

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG 13 (mild sexual content)

Pairing: B/S

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss & CO, just borrowing...

Feedback: Please... but this is my first go, so don't flame me too hard.

Summary: Takes place anywhere in season 6. Will eventually end up where I would like season to end. This is a different perspective - what is written is from Buffy's point of view (hence I = Buffy) and is what she is feeling and thinking rather than what she says and does on screen. Diary dates are not meaningful. Just the dates I wrote the chapter. Hope you like..

The Slayer Diary

March 5, 2002

Comfort is not easy to find. He comes to me at night. Night after night. Word after word. Striking me with thoughts and syllables that cut deeper than any sword. He revels in my torment. Every moment he can spend reminding me of what life should be, never saying it, but unlocking the door to myself and letting all the rawness pour out. Reminding me of what is forbidden, stolen, by virtue of my nature.

I see him everywhere. I see him when he is not there at all. In the night, in my dreams. He is many but only one. My soul. My conscience. My voice.

I despise the site of him because he makes me *feel*, and feeling anything is harder than the numbness I have made. When he is in front of me, I want to make him stop, make him go, wring his beautiful neck. Until I cannot see him, the torture will go on.

But even on the rare, glorious days of solitude, where I walk free of his shadow, and move without his air in my lungs, he comes to me in my sleep. Sometimes, I feel that he is physically there, like he crept into my bedroom, unwelcome, uninvited, and stands next to me, staring. Never speaking, but unlocking the door again. At least when I see him on the street, I can walk away. When he comes to me at night, I cannot make him go. I cannot speak. I lift my hands to push him out, but end up cupping my palm over his handsome cheek. I think to bury my feet in his chest and push him hard to the wall, out the window, out the door. Anywhere but here. But I draw him down to me. He stares, those sparkling, crystal eyes always staring as if stricken by some creature of loveliness. Like he does not really see me, but something better, truer, stronger. I feel his hand on his cheek, his thumb caressing my face with more tenderness than my heart can bear. I feel him speaking to me, but never moving his lips. I hear his voice in my head full of anger and pain. But most of all, love.

For as he is to me, I am to him. Murderer and savior.

His thoughts dance like sparks in my eyes, blinding me to the world, hypnotizing me, willing me to him. I try to break it, but I cannot. I cannot. His hand slides softly down my neck, my bare shoulder, careful not to slide my sheet away. But he never stops staring at me. Never stops begging me just to feel anything again. Even hate. Anything but this cool numbness.

I will the door closed and his eyes well up. Feeling me struggle with myself. Feeling me win. He leans forward and I feel his chiseled cheek pressed so softly to mine, softer than it could possibly be. And the whisper of his breath on my neck. "Please, love, " I hear in that slow, sultry voice, "stop this".

I smell his hair and his skin, his thoughts crashing into that closed door in my mind. He has the key, I just do not want to see it. Do not want to believe it even exists. If he opens it, the pain, the sorrow, and worst of all, the joy, will spill out into the air and break the comfortable nothingness of my existence.

I close my eyes to keep it all in me, for the eyes truly are windows... His lips caress my face. My arms are so tired of holding fast to the door. I hear him speak one last time. " I do love you, Pet.". And the door burst open splattering my resolve like a shotgun shell.

Everything I locked away he let go. It shattered him with the pleasure and the pain of truly knowing. For one moment, he understood. And his compassion took it all and set me free. There was no him anymore, nor was there me. We had been reduced to our most basic selves, then combined into one swirling, raging, beautiful light.

I laid with him, my head on his chest. I could feel my mind collecting all the stray monsters of my emotion and storing them back behind the door. But in the few moments I had left before I stole myself away, as I lay there feeling his hand brushing softly against my back and those beautiful eyes watching me slip away, I felt. I felt desperation, and hurt and helplessness and love.