Title: Living

Rated: G

Summary: Season 3 pre Beauty and the Beasts. Written for 15minuteficlets. The word was Haunted.

 

She had thought it would be better here at home. There was more to distract her, school, her friends, slaying. It wasn’t. He haunted her everywhere. He was in the library, the cemeteries, the Bronze and worst of all in her window at night. She’d wake up in a cold sweat and look to the window, expecting him to be there, lurking in the shadows and watching over her sleep.

 

            He never was.

 

            So she did the only thing she could. She smiled. She slayed. She pretended that it was okay that she’d sent her lover to Hell. It hurt that they all bought it. Willow wanted her to date again. She was still dealing with the fact that her heart was still beating. She thought it would stop. It was squeezed so tight that she didn’t know how it kept up its thumpity thumping.

 

            The most excruciating pain came at night, either in her nightmares or in the nightmare of waking up and discovering the dreams she had about Angel weren’t real. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there because she’d killed him. She’d taken a sword, shoved it into his gut and twisted, sending him to Hell for eternity. 

 

            She never did go back to sleep after those dreams. She would get up, get dressed and creep out of the house. Her footsteps would lead her to his old apartment. She’d broken the lock weeks ago. There was nothing left inside of the small room, just dust and memories. It was the memories that were important. She’d lain on the floor where his bed had been and remember that once upon a time Angelus hadn’t existed. Once upon a time she hadn’t sent Angel to Hell.

 

            His haunting was killing her. She considered finishing the job; even tried a time or two, but she couldn’t do it. She knew another slayer would be called. They’d been over that a time or two. She didn’t want to live, but Buffy wasn’t ready to die yet and if she wasn’t ready to die then she had to make a better show of living.

 

            The mansion was dusty. She hadn’t been back there since that day. Acathla was gone and she wondered if Giles had gotten rid of him or if he’d just disappeared. She traced the ghosts of their battle through the courtyard into the great room. Tears flooded her eyes. She knew exactly where they’d stood. Where she’d kissed him last, told him she loved him. He’d closed his eyes because she’d asked. He hadn’t doubted, he hadn’t wondered. He’d just closed his eyes because she couldn’t stand to see the look in them when she sent him to Hell.

 

            Buffy crouched down, her fingers caressing the cold stone of the floor. She laid the ring on the floor with the greatest care, paused a moment and then turned to walk away.

 

            She had to get on with the living she reminded herself. A tingle hit the base of her spine; the same tingle that told her Angel was near. A soft smile touched her lips. Maybe he wanted her to live too.