Chapter 4: The Morning After (pt 2)

Willow was sitting on the sofa reading a book she’d borrowed from the magic shop when Buffy trudged in, aspirin bottle and glass of water in hand.

“Feeling any better?”

Buffy nodded, then flinched as the movement caused a dizzy spell. “I think my stomach has stopped revolting against me. My head’s still a little angry, though.”

“Oh, it’ll get over it. It’s just cranky because you killed some of its favorite brain cells.”

“Yeah.” Buffy sank down on the couch next to Willow. “I think it’s also embarrassed, because I kinda remember dancing on top of a sarcophagus.” She rolled her eyes and tilted her head back into the pillows. She also remembered the serious conversation they’d had before the drinking started, but she wasn’t going to tell Willow about that. Had she really poured her soul out to Spike, of all people? What kind of backwards world had she been brought back to, where she confided in Spike and kept secrets from her friends?

But then, what kind of friends were they, that they would take heaven away from her?

They didn’t know, she had to keep reminding herself. That was important to remember. They thought they did a good thing, and she had to let them think it.

And Spike… well, he did help her last night. He was the only one with any idea what it was like, the only one who could answer her questions. And if communing with the evil dead went against the job description, well, so what? Not like she hadn’t broken that rule before.

“Could have been worse,” Willow was saying. “At least it was a sarcophagus and not a bar in front of, like, people.” Buffy just groaned in response. Slayer therapy or not, she wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of giving Spike a free show.

“Hey, you hungry? You want me to make you some toast?” Willow offered.

She started to shake her head, then remembered Mr. Cranky Brain. “No thanks,” she said instead.

“You should eat something. Toast is good, it’ll absorb the alcohol.”

“I’m fine, Will,” Buffy replied, a little sharper than she meant to.

Willow quickly glanced down at her book. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s just… You don’t have to be my mother.”

Willow looked up, a concerned expression on her face. “Am I smothering you? Oh, I am! I didn’t mean to.”

Buffy laid a hand on her arm. “Will, it’s okay.”

“But I smother out of love. I’m a love smotherer.” She hated to upset Buffy, when she only wanted what was best for her best friend. It seemed like it was so easy to upset her these days – the slightest thing could send her into a funk, or worse, provoke tears that she quickly blinked away and thought no one noticed.

“It’s just… it’s hard to adjust, you know? I need some time alone.”

Willow nodded at the tired refrain as if her body were on autopilot. It seemed to be Buffy’s new favorite phrase since she’d come back. She wondered if it was insensitive of her that she hated those words. Then she felt like a horrible person for even thinking it. This was Buffy, after all, her best friend – where was her compassion?

Buffy looked down at her lap and sighed deeply before continuing. “And I think it might help if things went back to normal.”

Willow looked confused. “Normal?”

“In the house, you know.”

Her eyes widened as she started to catch Buffy’s meaning. “You mean…?”

“Just me and Dawn.”

Willow sat up straighter, slightly taken aback. Binge drinking was one thing, but kicking housemates out of the house was a much more serious matter. But – compassion, right? She was supposed to be understanding and sympathetic. “Yeah, okay,” she said, attempting to keep the hurt out of her voice. “Sure. Tara and I will… we’ll just start looking for an apartment. No worries.”

“Will…”

“No. You’re right. I mean, we moved in here to take care of Dawn, but since you’re back, it’s your house, and you should get to decide…” She was trying desperately to sound like she meant what she said.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done,” Buffy said, in what she hoped was a convincing tone.

Everything except the part where you brought me back, she thought.