(no subject)
After hanging up the phone on Tara, I'd spent another few minutes alone on my bed, feeling sorry for myself - and feeling angry at myself for... um, feeling sorry for myself. Behold the spaz.
There were times when I was so hurt because Tara had left me that ... that I could blame this all on myself, that I could blame myself for everything that was going wrong between us. I couldn't count the number of fantasies I'd entertained about making it all up to her, swearing off the magic for good and all. Yeah, I needed it, but I needed Tara more.
Didn't I?
But then, there were also times when I could be mad at Tara. Feel ... well, betrayed and abandoned. That there was this great, big ... forever love we had that she had just ... walked out on. I needed her. I needed her help - especially now that Buffy was g-- in a coma. And now that I needed her so very badly, she was gone.
Alright, so I have a problem with the magics. I- I know that now! I know I need help... but, is running away from them the best answer? Is running away from me the best answer?
...are you afraid of me, baby?
I didn't know what to do. What to make of myself. Hearing Tara's voice, knowing that she would be moving in, just down the hall... it tore something open. A wound that hadn't fully healed. And hurt, sadness, anger and betrayal spilled forth. What was I suppossed to do with myself?
In the end... there was only one person who could give me that answer.
"Hi, Buffy," I slipped into the Slayer's bedroom and quietly closed the door behind me. I turned the lock and heard it click, then tilted my face forward into the hardwood of the door frame. I don't like being in here, not with Buffy... like this. But when I'm in here, I find I can breathe again. That the bearhug that despair has around my heart is --lessened and I can think about ...well, the bigger picture. Because the Slayer is gone. And when I'm in this room... I can feel it. And that means something beyond my personal heartbreak. Beyond my weaknesses and addictions. Beyond Tara.
I took a deep breath before turning around.
"Buffy... I think, I think that we need to have a talk."
And then, of course, I see her, lying there. Yep, Me Spaz.
"Or, well... I'll talk, and you," I made motions with my head and hands, and waved at her lying there, still, on the bed. "...you just, stay there."
And Buffy... well, she didn't do a whole lot of the moving thing.
"...well... good."
I sighed. I wrung my hands, and I did that funny little, well dancey thing Xander has always teased me for, hopping slowly from one foot to the other, somewhere between rocking back and forth and begging permission to use the bathroom from the third grade teacher...
...Hey, I was nine once.
...but even when she was lying there, still, motionless, silent... I couldn't just talk to her. This whole 'talking' thing... well, no, I- I can do the 'talking' thing Hi, Buffy, did you have fun with Angel last night? or Gee, Buffy, maybe we should go talk to Giles about this whatchamawhoodle bad... news... thing. But ... lecturing, uh uh. Noooo.
Lecturing, on me, equals spaz.
And Buffy knows that better than anyone.
But there's something Buffy doesn't know about me. Something she hadn't really 'got' yet - I think she was too busy with the whole 'Alive-dead-Alive again' business.
I think Dawn knows, now, I think she's known since that night at Rack's shack. And, of course, Tara knows. Tara always knew. She knew it months ago, when I brought our Slayer back.
I'm not an innocent anymore, Buffy. I'm not a child.
"Mind if I sit down?" I smoothed the bedspread out beneath me, and curled up against the headboard next to my best friend, with my knees pulled up to my chin, and I just looked down at Buffy. I brushed her hair a little, I tried to smile.
In my left hand, I carried a crisp copy of the front page from the day's paper.
"There's big news, Buffy," I whispered to my friend, stroking her head and her hair, looking and feeling hopeless. "Of the normal-that-is-para variety. You wanna see?" I held up the paper's front page, and I pointed out the section I wanted her to see.
"Animals Bite Back! Local Authorities Suspect New Strain of Rabies."
"No rest for the wicked, Buffy. No... no time to lie down on the job." I took my hand away from her face and turned to look at her, to look through her. "So... you know, maybe you should... get up? Go out and fight the evil dead? - or, well, undead."
For just a moment, I watched her. I mean, not that I really expected her to get up. Not -- well, maybe a little hope. But like I knew she would... she just lay there.
Maybe her cheek twitched.
"You know," I told her, after a silence, turning back around to rest my head on her headboard again, "you once told me that I was... that I was your Big Gun. D'you remember?"
Buffy did that breathing thing she does now. I hear you can get really good at it when it's... all you ever do.
"Of course you do." I stood up from the bed and moved across the room to her window, and for a few minutes I basked in the rainbow hues of the sunset. "You told me 'I need you, Will. You're my big gun.' I don't think I'd ever been quite that -- nervous, before. Not even about the SATs. I mean, Buffy, I crumble under pressure. That's Willow. That's me.
"Or it used to be, before I met you. Before you showed me that there were Big Bad things in the world, things that had to be fought." I turned around, and for the first time in the last few days, I felt a little fire in me again. "You taught me so much, Buffy. You showed me the way out of my shell, you - you helped me find myself, and your confidence in me... you gave me so much, Buffy..."
My voice cracked and croaked a little, my bottom lip started quivering, and my eyes, still red from the near-tears that Tara's phone call and announcement brought out of me, stung. I folded my arms across my chest and gritted my teeth. "But there's something I've learned that I didn't get from you, Buffy."
I moved across her room and bent down to the floor of Buffy's room. With a scrape of wood and metal against more wood, I pulled out the wooden lock box in which Buffy had long stored a number of her Slayer weaponry, threw up the top, and began to arm myself. A cross... a couple vials of holy water... a few stakes... a cross bow...
"You always told me that we couldn't run away from our problems, Buffy," I said, throwing the stakes, vials, and cross into the bag. I stepped around Buffy's bed and moved to her jewelry stand, and I slid my fingers around the back of Buffy's first crucifix necklace - y'know, the one Angel gave her, back when ...
"You told me we couldn't give up, couldn't run away, because... because people get hurt when the good people do nothing. And people getting hurt," I shot Buffy's still, quiet body an angry look. "Still not a good thing!"
Yanking the crucifix necklace off the stand of Buffy's jewelry, I pulled my hair up over my head and slid the necklace down around my neck. Then I flipped my hair over the collar of my courderoy jacket, grabbed the bag of weapons from off of the lock box, and slung it over my back. I unlocked the door and pulled it open, just a crack.
Then I looked back over my shoulder at Buffy. "You wanted to run away from your problems, from your life, and so now - now you've got your wish. Just lie there," I told her lowly, darkly, "You told me I should run away from my problems, just ... just," I waved a hand, dismissively, "ignore the magic, as if it was never a part of me, a-and maybe someday, I -- I wont think about using it to save a life, or... defend myself, or... or even bring you back, Buffy! But that's not gonna happen. I can't just wish away this ... this part of myself."
I stared at Buffy for a moment, then whirled around, shut the door behind me, and marched down the stairs and out of the house. I didn't know where Giles was, where Faith was, where Angel was...
But I was going to find someone, and I was going to learn, one way or the other, how to control myself. How to make some good of myself, for a change.
How to make a difference, the way Buffy used to.
...so, umm, can we say naive?
((Open to pretty much everyone, but especially Giles or Faith.))
There were times when I was so hurt because Tara had left me that ... that I could blame this all on myself, that I could blame myself for everything that was going wrong between us. I couldn't count the number of fantasies I'd entertained about making it all up to her, swearing off the magic for good and all. Yeah, I needed it, but I needed Tara more.
Didn't I?
But then, there were also times when I could be mad at Tara. Feel ... well, betrayed and abandoned. That there was this great, big ... forever love we had that she had just ... walked out on. I needed her. I needed her help - especially now that Buffy was g-- in a coma. And now that I needed her so very badly, she was gone.
Alright, so I have a problem with the magics. I- I know that now! I know I need help... but, is running away from them the best answer? Is running away from me the best answer?
...are you afraid of me, baby?
I didn't know what to do. What to make of myself. Hearing Tara's voice, knowing that she would be moving in, just down the hall... it tore something open. A wound that hadn't fully healed. And hurt, sadness, anger and betrayal spilled forth. What was I suppossed to do with myself?
In the end... there was only one person who could give me that answer.
"Hi, Buffy," I slipped into the Slayer's bedroom and quietly closed the door behind me. I turned the lock and heard it click, then tilted my face forward into the hardwood of the door frame. I don't like being in here, not with Buffy... like this. But when I'm in here, I find I can breathe again. That the bearhug that despair has around my heart is --lessened and I can think about ...well, the bigger picture. Because the Slayer is gone. And when I'm in this room... I can feel it. And that means something beyond my personal heartbreak. Beyond my weaknesses and addictions. Beyond Tara.
I took a deep breath before turning around.
"Buffy... I think, I think that we need to have a talk."
And then, of course, I see her, lying there. Yep, Me Spaz.
"Or, well... I'll talk, and you," I made motions with my head and hands, and waved at her lying there, still, on the bed. "...you just, stay there."
And Buffy... well, she didn't do a whole lot of the moving thing.
"...well... good."
I sighed. I wrung my hands, and I did that funny little, well dancey thing Xander has always teased me for, hopping slowly from one foot to the other, somewhere between rocking back and forth and begging permission to use the bathroom from the third grade teacher...
...Hey, I was nine once.
...but even when she was lying there, still, motionless, silent... I couldn't just talk to her. This whole 'talking' thing... well, no, I- I can do the 'talking' thing Hi, Buffy, did you have fun with Angel last night? or Gee, Buffy, maybe we should go talk to Giles about this whatchamawhoodle bad... news... thing. But ... lecturing, uh uh. Noooo.
Lecturing, on me, equals spaz.
And Buffy knows that better than anyone.
But there's something Buffy doesn't know about me. Something she hadn't really 'got' yet - I think she was too busy with the whole 'Alive-dead-Alive again' business.
I think Dawn knows, now, I think she's known since that night at Rack's shack. And, of course, Tara knows. Tara always knew. She knew it months ago, when I brought our Slayer back.
I'm not an innocent anymore, Buffy. I'm not a child.
"Mind if I sit down?" I smoothed the bedspread out beneath me, and curled up against the headboard next to my best friend, with my knees pulled up to my chin, and I just looked down at Buffy. I brushed her hair a little, I tried to smile.
In my left hand, I carried a crisp copy of the front page from the day's paper.
"There's big news, Buffy," I whispered to my friend, stroking her head and her hair, looking and feeling hopeless. "Of the normal-that-is-para variety. You wanna see?" I held up the paper's front page, and I pointed out the section I wanted her to see.
"Animals Bite Back! Local Authorities Suspect New Strain of Rabies."
"No rest for the wicked, Buffy. No... no time to lie down on the job." I took my hand away from her face and turned to look at her, to look through her. "So... you know, maybe you should... get up? Go out and fight the evil dead? - or, well, undead."
For just a moment, I watched her. I mean, not that I really expected her to get up. Not -- well, maybe a little hope. But like I knew she would... she just lay there.
Maybe her cheek twitched.
"You know," I told her, after a silence, turning back around to rest my head on her headboard again, "you once told me that I was... that I was your Big Gun. D'you remember?"
Buffy did that breathing thing she does now. I hear you can get really good at it when it's... all you ever do.
"Of course you do." I stood up from the bed and moved across the room to her window, and for a few minutes I basked in the rainbow hues of the sunset. "You told me 'I need you, Will. You're my big gun.' I don't think I'd ever been quite that -- nervous, before. Not even about the SATs. I mean, Buffy, I crumble under pressure. That's Willow. That's me.
"Or it used to be, before I met you. Before you showed me that there were Big Bad things in the world, things that had to be fought." I turned around, and for the first time in the last few days, I felt a little fire in me again. "You taught me so much, Buffy. You showed me the way out of my shell, you - you helped me find myself, and your confidence in me... you gave me so much, Buffy..."
My voice cracked and croaked a little, my bottom lip started quivering, and my eyes, still red from the near-tears that Tara's phone call and announcement brought out of me, stung. I folded my arms across my chest and gritted my teeth. "But there's something I've learned that I didn't get from you, Buffy."
I moved across her room and bent down to the floor of Buffy's room. With a scrape of wood and metal against more wood, I pulled out the wooden lock box in which Buffy had long stored a number of her Slayer weaponry, threw up the top, and began to arm myself. A cross... a couple vials of holy water... a few stakes... a cross bow...
"You always told me that we couldn't run away from our problems, Buffy," I said, throwing the stakes, vials, and cross into the bag. I stepped around Buffy's bed and moved to her jewelry stand, and I slid my fingers around the back of Buffy's first crucifix necklace - y'know, the one Angel gave her, back when ...
"You told me we couldn't give up, couldn't run away, because... because people get hurt when the good people do nothing. And people getting hurt," I shot Buffy's still, quiet body an angry look. "Still not a good thing!"
Yanking the crucifix necklace off the stand of Buffy's jewelry, I pulled my hair up over my head and slid the necklace down around my neck. Then I flipped my hair over the collar of my courderoy jacket, grabbed the bag of weapons from off of the lock box, and slung it over my back. I unlocked the door and pulled it open, just a crack.
Then I looked back over my shoulder at Buffy. "You wanted to run away from your problems, from your life, and so now - now you've got your wish. Just lie there," I told her lowly, darkly, "You told me I should run away from my problems, just ... just," I waved a hand, dismissively, "ignore the magic, as if it was never a part of me, a-and maybe someday, I -- I wont think about using it to save a life, or... defend myself, or... or even bring you back, Buffy! But that's not gonna happen. I can't just wish away this ... this part of myself."
I stared at Buffy for a moment, then whirled around, shut the door behind me, and marched down the stairs and out of the house. I didn't know where Giles was, where Faith was, where Angel was...
But I was going to find someone, and I was going to learn, one way or the other, how to control myself. How to make some good of myself, for a change.
How to make a difference, the way Buffy used to.
...so, umm, can we say naive?
((Open to pretty much everyone, but especially Giles or Faith.))