Title: Days 1/1

Author: Danielle

E-mail: PrincessCashew@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Up to and through Tabula Rasa, but it should really only be Tabula Rasa, because they have no memories. But o well, I'm babbling.

Summary: Buffy's thoughts on life after her memory comes back.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, and whoever has rights to these people in court. Do not sue me, I'm poor anyway.

Feedback: I would love it so much if you sent me some! Just pass it on to PrincessCashew@hotmail.com

Distribution: Whoever wants it can have it, just e-mail me first so I can

come and visit.

December 12th. I made lasagna. I used a meatless recipe for the first time. July 9th. The power went out for thirteen hours. Freezer water kept dripping all over the floor and we had to eat everything perishable out of the fridge. I refused to buy ice cream for awhile. October 27th. I think it rained.

A Thursday here, a Monday there. Nine hundred and sixty seven days. Nine hundred and sixty seven days that I lived in my own little dream world. A world where I was happy.

I keep trying to tell myself that I made it all up, everything that happened. That it was all the spell that Willow cast. But it wasn't. And that scares me only because it makes me think that this must be the spell.

She had tried to make it better, and it worked, for a little while anyway.

Yet, I hate her. I didn't think that I could ever hate her more than after she pulled me out of heaven. But now she's done it twice. I hate hating her. She's my friend. She loves me, that's why she does these things. But I can't stop myself from wishing she were dead every time I look at her.

I wake up at night alone in my bed now. My wedding band sits forlornly on the dresser. I haven't heard from him since that night it all clicked back into place. Doing laundry. My life changed while I was doing laundry.

We bought this apartment together. The heavy drapes are still on the windows, and I can't bear to put away the pictures that hang on the walls. Mostly because we're all smiling in them.

"Mr. Rupert Giles invites you to the wedding of his son, Mr. Randy Giles to Ms. Joan Smith." The invitation sits framed on my nightstand. I don't know where I should put it. A drawer just doesn't seem fair.

It would be my one-year anniversary soon, next week. I guess it still is my anniversary. I'd never thought that I'd be alone for it.

He left because of me. I knew I loved Randy, I still love Randy, but he's not Randy anymore. He's Spike. Spike, who tried to kill me, who had a robot made in my likeness to have his way with, who stalked me for months.

He still loved me. Buffy, Joan, it didn't matter. I was the same girl to him, I don't know how. But I couldn't love him the same way. Not yet. Not after this.

I dream about the things we used to have; the things that I don't think I will get back.

I wake up crying at night, hysterical with how it hurts me to be Buffy again, but he's not there to wipe my tears. He can't wrap his cool arms around me. He won't have some meal cooked when I come home from patrol. The house is quiet without his voice.

Nine hundred and sixty seven days showing me what I can't have. Fifty-four days trying to make myself not want those things. Fifty-four days of sitting by the phone. It hasn't rung.

But I'm ready for when it does. I'll tell him I love him and he'll come back. It's what I try to think about most nights before I go to sleep. Him coming back. Sometimes he helps me kill her. Sometimes he kills me.

March 21st. I sat alone in our bedroom. February 2nd. I picked the ingredients out to make his favorite meal and was on line before I realized he was gone. April 13th. I smashed my fist through the glass covering our wedding photo.

A Wednesday here. A Sunday there. There are no days in hell.