Aspirations of a Man

by SpikesKat

Every time I see her I cringe. And I wonder what in the bloody hell possessed me to think that I could recreate her. The Slayer. This thing – this robot– isn’t her. It’s a pale imitation. A state of the art, emotionless computer wrapped up in the Slayer’s image.  

She isn’t real. 

Buffy, the real Buffy, taught me that. Showed me what real was, she did. A whisper soft kiss to battered lips, a freely given crumb of gratitude for not betraying her or Dawn.  

As if I would. 

Hell, I’d take a thousand beatings if it would bring her back, make it so that she hadn’t been the one to have jumped. That I’d been able to keep that promise to her, the one whispered so fervently just the other night. 

Was it only the other night? Seems like it’s been years already. And for a vampire, that’s saying something.

With her gone, each minute, each second, feels like eternity. An eternity of pain and suffering I cannot escape. I try not to show it though. Gotta be strong for Dawn. Let her know that I’m there for her. 

She’s gonna need me too. Gonna need someone to talk to. Someone she doesn’t have to pretend to that things are all right in the Summers’ household. That her sister’s not about to be buried six feet under. 

Rupert and the others decided to bury her themselves. Figured they couldn’t actually tell the funeral home about the Slayer’s death, especially given that the Bot would be carrying on in her place. Like she could ever take the Slayer’s place. But I think I mentioned that already, yeah? Well, what do you expect from a pissed vampire? Alcohol tends to muddle things. And right about now, muddled suits me just fine. Just fine indeed.

Not every day the Slayer gets buried, now is it? 

I escape to the basement to cool my sudden anger at the sight of the Slayer replica. Red’s spent the day shoving the bloody thing down our throats. Claims she has to work out the bugs, whatever that means. I can hear them upstairs, shuffling around in the kitchen as they gather what’s necessary. I could have met them at the cemetery and avoided the confrontation with the Bot, but Dawn has gotten it into her head that I’m to bunk down in the basement. She even went so far as to tell the others that she’d sneak out at night to find her way to my place otherwise. 

I’d smile as an image crystallizes in my mind of Rupert polishing his specks, frowning intently at the girl as she spoke her mind, but for once keeping his bloody trap shut. At how Harris probably mimicked the Poofter’s constipated expression that I’d be getting to stay in the Slayer’s house, receiving an elbow to the ribs from Red when he opened his mouth to object. At Dawn’s smug look at having gotten her way. 

I’d smile, but–  

A knock sounds at the basement door. 

It’s time. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The last shovelful of dirt is patted into place, and everyone takes a turn whispering a few words of remembrance. I remain quiet, unable to speak for the huge lump in my throat.

Too much–  Oh god. Buffy– 

I gotta get away. Now. Right the fuck now. Before I lose it completely. I make sure that Dawn will be looked after by one of the Scoobies, then race away. Cowardly, you might say. Yeah, you’re prolly right.  

But I choose to think of it as helping the Slayer out. Ya know, taking out the baddies trying to make a meal out of the humans too stupid not to know that you don’t go walking around the Hellmouth’s cemeteries at night. 

Thing is, though, there aren’t too many demons out and about. It’s like they all know that hell had been moments from being here on Earth and are laying low. Can’t say as I blame them. For all we like to brag about the end of the world and Armageddon, to have it actually happen would reduce many a demon to tears. So yeah, thanking their lucky stars would probably be a good guess. 

Which leaves me nothing to do but return home, or go there. 

Love’s bitch here, where do you think I went? 

Yeah, got it in one. Right smart bastard, you are. I’d give you a cookie, but Red’s not in the baking mood. 

The others have left by the time I make it back. Which is prolly a good thing. If I’m going to break down, I’d rather not have an audience. 

I’m not sure how long I knelt at the foot of her grave. I know my thoughts were rather dark. That I again contemplated greeting the sun. I think I may have even clawed at the freshly churned dirt so that I could be closer to her when it happened, but I’m not sure. When I eventually snapped out of it, the ground beneath me appeared untouched. Maybe I dreamt the whole thing. 

I stay there until the last possible second, only just managing to slip through the kitchen door as the sun starts to rise in the sky. I look longingly at it. 

It would be so easy. Just walk out the back door and step off the porch. It wouldn’t take long. A handful of seconds, maybe less. 

I’m ashamed to admit it, but my feet shuffle forward, my hand actually turns the knob and opens the door. For once, the demon isn’t even scared. Just resigned. 

What stopped me? 

It could have been the soft whimper resonating from upstairs as Dawn moans in her sleep. It could have been. 

Only–  

As much as I care about the Slayer’s little sis, she alone can’t make me stay. 

No, it’s that promise. That bloody promise makes me close the door. Makes me slink down into the basement and away from the rising sun. 

But you’re a demon, you say. The Slayer’s gone, who’s to know? 

See, that’s the thing. 

That promise? 

That’s real. And I’ll be damned before I make it not be.

The End

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