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RATING: PG
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SPOILERS: Through "Seeing Red"

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SUMMARY: "She'd wanted him to go away, but she doesn't want him gone."

Particles
by wisteria

She hates the way they look at her. The shift from respect to pity. They think she's earned it. Not that she's a victim, but she's disappointed them.

How could you? she sees in Xander's eyes.

And as she picks herself up from the floor, she turns her back to him. Pity this, she wants to paint across her shoulder blades. I don't need your pity. Hell, I'm the one who should be pitying you.

"Downstairs in five," he says as he leaves, as if he's the new daddy figure.

Her nails push crescents in her palms. What's another bruise or scratch, anyway? Just add to the collection.

When she crosses into her bedroom, she hears a loud thud and the jingle of a latch. Can't make out what Xander's saying, but maybe something about a weapon.

She has to get downstairs. No! her mind screams. He may be... but he's not.... didn't.... no!

God, how screwed up has she gotten, anyway? Defending the man who tried to do - tried to do that.

But no, NO! Don't stake him! Just don't.

She'd wanted him to go away, but she doesn't want him gone.

Oh, Lord. Life's a mess. I'm a mess.

She grabs at clothes, yanking the turtleneck on even though it's too warm outside, but she has to cover herself up. It's her skin. Private. She's the one who chooses who can see it.

Hop-skipping across the floor as she pulls on her shoes, she tumbles to the floor.

And she lies there.

So easy to just curl up and forget about it all. Let the world go to hell, as long as they leave her alone. But there's too much to do. Things had been getting better lately, and she isn't going to get back on track by doing the fetal ball routine. No more taking the easy way out, like this past year.

Time to grow up. Get up.

"Buffy?" Willow calls from downstairs.

And she finds her voice is stronger than she expects when she yells back, "Be down in a minute."

Then she remembers something. "Tell Xander to wait for me, Will."

A reply: "We're all down here in wait mode."

When she pulls herself up from the floor, she refocuses her eyes and sees it.

Black leather, tossed to the tiles. One sleeve is splayed out, like it's reaching for a lifeline.

Oh, God.

Get it away! Get it away! Her brain screams.

She kicks it across the floor. It skitters to a stop inside the doorway to her bedroom.

Just like him, really.

She grabs some scissors from the junk drawer in her vanity. Gotta slice it to shreds, quick straight cuts, leave it out in the yard for the spring rains to ruin.

When she yanks it up and readies the scissors, she freezes.

The scent is familiar, so familiar. It smells like him.

Nausea rolls around in her belly. She screws her face shut, swallowing the feeling away.

She tosses the coat aside. It lands on the edge of her mattress, half-on, half-off. That same sleeve now reaches for her pillow.

Can't deal with it now. No.

Later.

Downstairs in five.

END (1/1)

This may eventually become a series of very short fics exploring the coat issue and Spike's absence from Sunnydale. I make no promises, though ;). Mil gracias to Cissy for a wonderful beta!

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