"I guess I'll find out, cause I'm gonna try," Buffy said. She started walking aimlessly back the way she'd come. She didn't need to go play target, no one was coming to make her little play into a reality anyway. "And I think I'd be better off if I could," Buffy said. "Let it all fade away..."
She gave Spike an irritated glance; it was about time for him to stop gently and politely arguing with her. Did he really want to politely and ruthlessly destroy whatever little tiny bits of hope she had? Was that what this was about?
"It's like you don't understand hate," she said crossly. "Just think about it for a minute. Why do you think I hate talking to you? Why do you think we have that agreement that you just love to ignore where we leave each other alone?" She ground out those last few words, giving them plenty of emphasis. Otherwise he might not pay attention, he was good at the not paying attention. But her pace continued to be aimless, like she didn't really care, or like the caring hadn't reached all the way through her to raise her pulse and speed her steps.
"It's because you're from the future, and you're weird and not really Spike and yeah, that's better because Spike was evil but then when you look at me I'm not really Buffy -- am I?" She snapped the last as a challenge. "You have expectations and experiences I don't understand and I just know there's something you know that's gonna make me miserable when I find out about it. And I hate it."
She was trying to make herself mad, anger was such a pure emotion if you could find it, but mostly she was just making herself irate. "I hate it," she said. Less emotion. "I hate not knowing and I hate not wanting to know. I hate it when people know all about me so it's not even worth having a past because it belongs to everyone. I hate it when people are snide about things that happened in the future. And this place is like that with everything. It's not just all the knowing, it's the leaving, and the coming, and the hope and the despair..."
She'd wound down to vague grumbling, but anger -- true anger -- sparked as she added, "And just look at what it's done to Dawn! She's supposed to be the one who lived, I died and she lived but she's not happy here."
She walked on, staring at the sidewalk in front of her. "And hate finds a way, and so will I. If I look like a Sarah instead of an Alicia? There's some way to fix that. Distracting tattoo? Fake birthmark? Plastic surgery? How do you think I'd look with a new nose? Or maybe a horrific disfiguring scar. I bet I could find someone to help me with that around here."
She looked at Spike, measuring him up for the job, then shook her head. Not a chance, was there? Not that horrific disfiguring scar was her first choice anyway. She was more a fake birthmark kind of girl.