Author’s Notes: It’s not brilliant by any means, but I haven’t written anything in such a very long time I needed something to wean me into it. It’s highly likely that it makes virtually no sense at all, but I’ll take the chance.
Plot: Buffy’s dreaming in the future of things that could have been. Post-I will remember you…kinda follows that theme. It’s from Buffy’s PoV and it follows her kind of off beat train of thought…
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, they belong to Joss and all those dudes at Fox et al. Don’t sue me as I’m just borrowing. The plot (shamefully) is mine as is Jude. Although…never mind. This fic is completely un beta’d so blame me!
Feedback: Is adored!

I always see him at this very moment, every night of my life. Always the same old, always the same perfect old. He’s over 250 years old now yet he looks not a day over thirty, twenty seven at a push, his dark mahogany hair shines under the bright light of the moon and he smiles a little. When I say a little, I change it to a lot, his strong white teeth gleam at me and now it’s daylight.

Daylight with my honey and we’re sitting under a sycamore tree in the park, he’s feeding me strawberry jello on a little white plastic spoon and blowing raspberries on my belly. This is perfect I think to myself, as we watch the ants crawl over our sandwiches and pick them up on their strong shoulders to take back to their nest. To their families. A family…

It’s daylight and I’m in the park with my honey. We’re sitting in a corner of the park by the adventure playground. A four year old boy is playing on the swings in front of us and there’s a push chair parked next to our red blanket. We’re lying on the grass my lover and I, there’s a new born baby resting on my belly and my lover is gazing lovingly at us both. He’s got a hand resting on me, he’s tracing circles on my browned skin as the baby gurgles and screws her tiny little face up in a baby yawn. She’s perfect, with dark hair and big blue eyes. Her pink baby grow turns yellow and now she’s wearing the most adorable little sun hat. I love her so much, I love this so much but I can’t decide. Now she’s wearing a little blue dress and is suckling on her tiny little fist; she’s mine.

There’s a cloud that’s moved across the sun and my lover rolls onto his front, looking up at the tall blue sky. He takes the baby from me and cradles her in between his arms, looking down at her with wondrous brown eyes. She’s his too, and she stares back up at her daddy and makes a little sound. I think maybe she’s going to cry and start to think about making her stop…I decide against it. I don’t want to change what she’s doing…she’s too cute and her little clucks are so adorable…

Now there’s another child playing in the park with the little boy. He smiles over as if he knows me…I don’t know him. Or do I? I don’t really know who he is but he’s cute. He’s got blonde hair and brown eyes and he’s got something familiar about him. Perhaps he’s mine I think, but I catch my reflection in the knife I’m using to cut an apple in half, and I don’t look old enough to be a mommy to him. No, I decide he’s not my baby but he’s something of mine... a cousin maybe? All this thinking is hard.

My own baby is now sleeping softly in her daddy’s arms. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen I think to myself...now my lover and I are walking hand in hand. He’s pushing the stroller with one arm and my hand with his other. He’s clever like that, y’know being sweet yet practical. I’m thinking randomness here but hey, it’s my dream. I don’t want my baby to be asleep anymore, I want her in my arms. I lift her out of the stroller and hold her to my chest. She’s still napping but I don’t want to wake her. God she’s so perfect and her baby smell fills my nostrils. Her podgy little diaper scrunches against my hand as I hold her closely to me, my lovers arms laced around my belly as we walk towards to bridge over the river.

Such a perfect dream I think to myself as I stare out of my window, my chin resting in my palms…staring. I hate my life, it’s cold and dark and blank and bland. I’m now 22 years old and I still live at home. I live at home looking after my little sister, my mother is dead, I have no boyfriend and I have a job that pays minimum wage. And somewhere I always harbour this feeling that it’s wrong. So wrong. I have a memory... a perfect dream where my lover is alive. I feel the hum of his heart beating beneath my hand as he looks into my eyes and kisses me and holds me up to his strong body.

I remember this from somewhere, the days and weeks that follow it. I remember my pumpkin belly, roundly swollen with his child inside me and I feel her kicking against my side, alerting me to her existence, as though I could ever forget! I remember days spent lazing in bed, his arms resting over my bump protectively as we both dozed off between bouts of conversation and love making. I remember his smell and husky scent, the way it clung to his shirts when I pulled the on to lounge around his place.

I remember the birth of our daughter and the way he took her from her crib and walked with her towards the window. I remember seeing him bathed in light, seeing the sun cast glorious shadows over his hansom face and our baby being absorbed into the vast whiteness of the morning light. I remember, oh I remember her little name bracelet…baby Angel. I remember the play fights over her name and how we settled on Jude, something that held dignity and tradition and was pretty and serious like the solemn expression that adorned her face as I held her in my arms as we chose. Jude. I repeat the name over and over to myself, trying to remember what else I know about this dream baby, my baby from another world. But it doesn’t come to me. And I’m back staring out of the window. I’m 22 years old and I’m alone.

I save the world every night, every night I save women with families, fathers, mothers brothers and sisters. I save children, babies, lovers and friends. And they never know. And I don’t care…I’m dreaming my life away and I know it, but the dreams are so soft…I cannot resist. They pull me back to them with their fuzzy lull and I’m wishing to hold my lover in my arms. I’m wishing to hold his baby in my arms…and I can’t. Because when I open my eyes to look at him, I face the reality of the day, not my dream. I’m trapped in my world. And I hate it.

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