Leaving Terra
if you're a thought
you will want me
to think you
and I did
and I did
--Tori Amos, Scarlet's Walk
She's there for a good minute and a half before he notices her. She's tempted to break the moment, to make some joke about the necklace he's holding, how between its scrubbing bubbles and the slicing dicing scythe, their weapons should have their own infomercials. Instead she just stands there until he looks up.
There's no turning back now, not from any of it. Slowly, deliberately, she removes her coat, taking care to keep her eyes on his face. For once, she can't tell what he's thinking just by looking at him. She thinks she sees yearning there, hope, but she can't be sure. Then his face disappears behind the fabric of her shirt as she pulls it over her head. When it reappears, he's smiling, but it looks more like mourning.
In a way, it is. What could have been, what might have been, what was. How it all ended. She takes the first step, like she knew she'd have to, closing the gap. Waits a moment before erasing it completely. Erasing. That's what she's doing. Erasing the ugliness and the pain. Taking away any advantage the First might have over them.
He lifts trembling hands to undo her bra. He's never trembled like this before, never felt unsure. His touch is familiar and yet not, like him. She burrows her nose in his shirt, smelling smoke and something she's never quite been able to define. Spike-smell. She giggles a little at the thought.
Undressing didn't used to take them this long. He opens his mouth to say something, but she can't risk hearing it, can't risk the intrusion of speech, so she presses her hand against his lips and shakes her head. Words are bad. Words are what come back to haunt you, what wind up twisting against you.
She can't say what she needs to say with words, not tonight. Maybe the Germans have a word for it, for "I forgive you, I need you, I'm sorry, thank you, please let this be enough", something long and twisted, maybe with umlauts. Buffy's not German; all she has are her hands.
On his cot, looking into his eyes, she flashes back to the first time. The startled look in her eyes reflected in his. Realization. Alarm. Connection. It feels like a lifetime ago, feels like yesterday. She reaches for his hand, clutching it like a lifeline as they shatter the walls one last time.
Aww! Susan, I like.
Thank you! I like yours a lot, too. Very evocative. Especially love the bit about the Germans having a word for it, and the memory of their first time.
I wonder how many versions of this scene are already out there!
Maybe the Germans have a word for it, for "I forgive you, I need you, I'm sorry, thank you, please let this be enough", something long and twisted, maybe with umlauts. Buffy's not German; all she has are her hands.
This, this is wonderful, I say, having lived in the land of gemutlichkeit (cannae do umlauts, sorry).
Susan, that was lovely, and quite possible.
Oh, fine, make me all weepy as I'm coming in to post another section. Nasty, tricksy writers (where's my kleenex) Oh, well, here's fic
The rooms they'd been given each had three beds, plus a table and chairs. In the Summers room, Dawn was fast asleep on one bed, Bear tucked in close under her arm. The duffle bag of clothes was on the table.
Buffy dug in the bag to find clean clothes. "I don't suppose they have showers here."
"A bucket with holes in the bottom, maybe. They probably only have a well."
"Oh, gosh, I just thought--outhouses, you think?"
Joyce nodded under the bed, where a porcelain pot rested. There was one for each bed. "Think of it as camping."
"There are reasons I didn't join the Girl Scouts, you know."
Joyce found some fresh clothes for herself. "Let's go explore the washroom before a nap."
"When do we eat? Should we donate our food, do you think?"
"We can ask Sister Agnes."
The washroom wasn't as musty and nasty as Buffy had feared. The stone floor sloped towards a drain in the corner and a long sink ran along the back wall. And in the sink was a squalling Baynar, being forcibly washed by a bigger version of himself.
Joyce hesitated at sight of the demon. Buffy patted her shoulder reassuringly. "It's OK, Mom. The little guy is Baynar, one of those Minoto that Giles said were staying here. Sister Agnes introduced Xander and me to him."
The larger demon peered over its shoulder. Or her shoulder, as the case seemed to be. "Hello," she whistled in passable English. "You are the humans in the bus?"
"Yes, we are," Buffy answered. "I'm Buffy Summers, and this is my mom, Joyce Summers."
Baynar bounced and whistled. The larger demon nodded. "My child says he saw you, Buffy Summers, with a male human. I am Savlin." She turned back to Baynar, who was pointing at Joyce's walker. "Baynar would like to know why you have metal legs, Joyce Summers."
Joyce blinked. "I've been sick. My legs don't work quite right yet, but I'm getting better."
Savlin whistled to Baynar, who asked something in return. They talked for a few moments, Baynar getting increasingly vocal, until Savlin said something sternly and the youngster went motionless and silent.
"What did you tell him?" Joyce asked.
"I told him that if he did not behave that I would let the Slayer eat him."
Buffy went very still. It took a moment for Joyce to find her voice. "The--the Slayer?"
Savlin hunched her shoulders. "I know, I shouldn't tell him scary stories. If he has nightmares it is my fault. And the Slayer is far away." She picked up a towel and wrapped Baynar up as she pulled him into her arms. The little demon wrapped his arms around her neck, silent until Savlin tickled him into helpless hisses. Savlin nodded at Buffy and Joyce as she left. Baynar waved at them over his mother's shoulder.
Joyce put a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Honey?"
"I'm the boogeyman," she said bleakly. "I am what mommies threaten their kids with. The monster that hides under the bed."
"Honey, not you. Your job. And from what you've told me, some of those demons deserve to be frightened of you."
Her forehead unkinked a little. "Yeah, I guess so." She looked the way Savlin and Baynar had gone. "I wonder how many other kinds of demons are out there who are scared of the Slayer and shouldn't be. I mean, there must be others out there who just want to be left alone, who don't want to rampage through the world and kill people. If I'm supposed to be saving the world and all, they're a part of it, too."
Joyce made her way to the sink and investigated the water taps. "I've always wondered--you're the Vampire Slayer. Why do you have to go after all of those other things, too? Why isn't there a Demon Slayer as well?"
"Oh, trust me, I've wondered that too." Buffy joined her at the sink. "Giles just humphed and said I should be glad the job description didn't include dragons."
Joyce nearly dropped the soap. "Dragons?"
"Really. Standing order from the Council. If there are dragons involved, call for backup. They've actually got people who specialize in dragons."
"How often are they needed?"
"I didn't ask. But isn't it freaky that they had to think of it in the first place?"
Joyce stared at her a moment, then went back to washing. "You're teasing me."
Buffy crossed her heart and held up her right hand. "Not. You can ask him." The frown reappeared. "Or, you know, maybe not."
"Maybe not." Joyce leaned over to kiss Buffy's forehead and continued washing.
Standing order from the Council. If there are dragons involved, call for backup.
Oh, connie! This, and Baynar, and poor Buffy the Boogeyman. I love it. I am afraid that you're going to be evil and cause me much pain, because this is just too good, but I'm looking forward to it.
