The Burkle Seven
Finally finished this fic for good__evil!
The Burkle Seven
Pride
It’s becoming a mantra. A slogan.
When she carries groceries across town, trying to keep up with her owner’s quick footsteps, she mutters to herself “I will not let this conquer me. I am too good for this to beat me.”
When she sits wearing rags and mends clothing made of the finest fabric available, she slowly recites “I will get out of here. I will find a way. I will not let this stop me.”
When she mucks out the stables, and trips straight into the manure she’s been piling up, and she isn’t allowed to wash and has to keep shovelling no matter how much she stinks, she says quietly “I am not going to give up. I am better than this. I will find a way.”
When she chops firewood in the frozen morning air, she slams the axe into the logs and firmly states “I graduated top of my class.”
chop
“I got early admission to college.”
chop
“I have a 4.0 GPA.”
chop
“I’m a scientist.”
chop
“A prodigy.”
chop
“I will not die in this crappy excuse for a ren faire.”
When she is backhanded across the room by her drunken owner, and she slams into the wall, she doesn’t say a word. She stands there and takes it. And then he turns away, and she whispers “I will not let you break my will. I will stay strong. I am going to survive.”
And when she is finally given her daily hunk of bread and sent to the barn, she does not go to sleep. Instead, she retrieves the paperclip she keeps safe, and once again works on breaking circuitry she can’t see using one tiny piece of metal she keeps dropping. And she’s exhausted, and aching, and her eyes will not stay open, but she persists. She picks up the paperclip yet again, and repeats to herself “I will stay awake. I will keep going. I will not give up. I am better than that. I will find the solution. I will not be destroyed. I will not let this beat me.”
And the months slowly pass.
Gluttony
Word travels fast.
Even among competitors. After all, no-one outside the industry is going to care enough to listen. So, even when they’re competing with you for the same customers, you still tend to talk.
Information gets passed on. Trade secrets, appropriate pricing, good locations, good customers. Everyone finds out sooner or later. Usually sooner.
One afternoon in May, an order arrives. And it’s a dream order. They want multiple servings of every item on the menu, and plenty of extra soda.
Probably a party or something, is the thought. They pack it all up, deliver it to the hotel, and forget about it. Until tomorrow, when the exact same order comes again.
And again the next day.
And yes - word travels fast. By the end of the week, there are twenty-three taco stands within walking distance of the Hyperion.
And all of them are making a nice profit…
Lust
Last night they almost walked straight into a group of vampires. And Gunn grabbed her hand, and pulled her back into a doorway as they passed, and they both stayed quiet until the vampires had moved away, and then they grabbed their weapons and surprised them from behind.
He’d gripped her hand so tightly, so urgently. So differently to the way he held it later, when they bought icecream and wandered home, chatting.
He has such beautiful hands.
They’re strong, and calloused, and made for holding weapons, and they move quickly and so delicately, and she’s beginning to learn how very skilful they are at being in exactly the right place at the perfect time, and making her feel, oh- with everything exactly- and then he- and pretty soon she’s going to get him to show her just how incredible those hands can…
Fred blushes.
Wrath
And she’d been so happy. So excited. So eager to get back to everything.
Now she’s just wondering if she really saw it.
She doesn’t take her eyes off the door until she sees him leave for lunch. Then she slips back inside the lab.
His office is open. The book’s still there. She stares at it.
It’s just a book. Just a physics book. That’s all. She imagined the whole thing. She must have.
And slowly, she opens it. And she didn’t imagine anything.
Symbols, words, numbers, formulae, diagrams detailing the weirdest stuff she’s seen in weeks. It’s all there. But she still can’t quite believe it.
Why would he want…
Yet another bastard messing around with yet another portal.
Another…
No. There’s no way.
She takes another book off the bookcase. Quantum flooding. The next is astrophysics. Then WIMPs. Particle compression. Atomic kinematics. Runic incantations and their effect on transdimensional mystic bleed-through. Mass destabilisation. Amplitude linking. Blood rites. Thaumogenesis. Sephirolk demons and how to capture them. Transpossession.
And it can’t be, there’s no way it could be, but she can’t stop looking now, she has to know, although he couldn’t have, there’s just no way, but still she keeps pulling book after book off the shelves until she finally sees it.
Crv dr pff lr ploos pls vos strp umpt…
Him. It was him.
And he’s going to die.
Sloth
He’s reading the paper when the buzzer sounds.
There’s a stick-thin girl standing at the counter, looking either bored or close to tears, it’s hard to tell.
“Got a room available?”
He nods. “Thirty dollars a night. And we don’t do room service.”
“Sure.” She hands over the money, and eyes him suspiciously. “You’re miserable, right?”
“Huh?”
“You haven’t… found eternal bliss, or anything?”
He glares at her. “You start preaching, and I’m putting the price up to forty.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. I just want a room.”
He hands her a key and a local tourist guide (listing bus routes, and restaurants, and that place where you can buy a miniature plastic Griffith Observatory), but she hands the guide back. “I just want a quiet night in. Do you get the Cartoon Network?”
And she heads up to her room, so he goes back to the paper.
Then, the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard starts talking on the radio, and nothing else matters at all.
Envy
She’s in the middle of the latest report on spectral readings when Fred suddenly catches herself wishing she was Lilah.
Well, that was unexpected.
She dismisses it, and moves on - after all, Lilah was evil, and these spectrometrics aren’t going to analyse themselves - but leaning over a microscope forty-three minutes later, she once again realises that, yes, she wishes she was Lilah.
That’s just… unnatural.
And she’s alone, and it’s going to keep annoying her, so she grabs a marker and starts writing relevant facts up on the whiteboard.
First variable = Lilah (LM)
Second variable = Me (FB)
FB wants to be LM
LM = dead
FB = alive
LM = evil
FB = not evil
LM = Wolfram&Hart = evil
FB = Wolfram&Hart, but not evil even though W&H is
Does FB want to be LM because she secretly wants to be evil? After all, it would make life at W&H easier.
No. Probably not.
LM = rich
LM = intelligent
LM = sexy (at least Wesley thought so)
LM = a vicious bitch
-and that didn’t stop him, for some reason
He must have thought she was worth it.
Fred steps back, and looks at what she’s written so far, and she frowns.
Then she starts writing again.
Third variable = Wesley
Wesley was with LM.
Is it possible that FB wants to be LM because of LM’s relationship with Wesley?
No.
After all, Wesley’s in love with me. I’m sure he is. Wesley’s been in love with me for years.
Even if he hasn’t asked me out recently, that’s just because he thinks I’m still with Knox.
And he doesn’t want to cause friction.
He thinks
He doesn’t just
If there was
He’s very
He slept with Lilah - even though he was in love with me.
And she was evil.
And he just didn’t care.
He went after her anyway.
Forget obstacles - nothing could stop him.
So what’s stopping him now?
Good question.
She’s still standing there, staring at the whiteboard, when Spike wanders in.
He doesn’t say anything - he just reads quietly, and then hands her an eraser.
And together they clean up the mess.
Greed
There are flowers in the vase by the window, and a card that says quite simply “Always”.
There’s a new rug on the floor. It’s yellow and orange, and reminds her of sunsets.
She doesn’t really cook, but the kitchen has cookies, and lots of coffee, and three frozen pizzas saved for emergencies. And there’s a bottle of wine. She’s been saving it for a special occasion.
Why does she always save for a special occasion? Wasn’t yesterday special enough?
There’s a red top hanging in her wardrobe. It’s lacy, and kind of impractical - which is why she bought it. It’s so nice being able to afford things.
So she has five new tops, two new skirts, and eighteen new pairs of shoes. Shopping is fun.
There are four books on her table, all about inverse subparticle waves. She keeps meaning to read them, but she works weird hours, so she usually just watches tv instead.
But she wants to read them. They’re her books, and they look so interesting, and she’s supposed to have time.
There are soft toys on the couch, and under the bed there’s a box of photos she still needs to sort out properly. No-one else will know where half the photos are from.
There’s an unused tube of toothpaste, and one of the chairs wobbles and she’s been meaning to have it repaired, and there’s a phone bill to pay, and she’s still halfway through a formula in the lab, and there’s an episode of Jeopardy she taped and still hasn’t watched yet, and she needs time. There’s never time, and now there’s no time, and she still has so much she needs to do.
There’s a new thai restaurant she wants to try, and a nice pair of earrings she hardly ever wears, and three dirty plates in the sink, and Wesley, and Wesley’s voice, and Wesley’s hands, and Wesley’s eyes - oh god, his eyes - and she’ll never get to gaze into them for hours over a steak dinner, and she’ll never find out what his favourite song is, or what he thinks of Italy, and they’ll never get to grow old together, and she was supposed to have more warning than this.
There’s nothing left. It’s all fading away. And there’s nothing she can do. So she lies there, and watches Wesley, and repeats to herself “I am better than this. I will not let it beat me. I am better than this…”
The Burkle Seven
Pride
It’s becoming a mantra. A slogan.
When she carries groceries across town, trying to keep up with her owner’s quick footsteps, she mutters to herself “I will not let this conquer me. I am too good for this to beat me.”
When she sits wearing rags and mends clothing made of the finest fabric available, she slowly recites “I will get out of here. I will find a way. I will not let this stop me.”
When she mucks out the stables, and trips straight into the manure she’s been piling up, and she isn’t allowed to wash and has to keep shovelling no matter how much she stinks, she says quietly “I am not going to give up. I am better than this. I will find a way.”
When she chops firewood in the frozen morning air, she slams the axe into the logs and firmly states “I graduated top of my class.”
chop
“I got early admission to college.”
chop
“I have a 4.0 GPA.”
chop
“I’m a scientist.”
chop
“A prodigy.”
chop
“I will not die in this crappy excuse for a ren faire.”
When she is backhanded across the room by her drunken owner, and she slams into the wall, she doesn’t say a word. She stands there and takes it. And then he turns away, and she whispers “I will not let you break my will. I will stay strong. I am going to survive.”
And when she is finally given her daily hunk of bread and sent to the barn, she does not go to sleep. Instead, she retrieves the paperclip she keeps safe, and once again works on breaking circuitry she can’t see using one tiny piece of metal she keeps dropping. And she’s exhausted, and aching, and her eyes will not stay open, but she persists. She picks up the paperclip yet again, and repeats to herself “I will stay awake. I will keep going. I will not give up. I am better than that. I will find the solution. I will not be destroyed. I will not let this beat me.”
And the months slowly pass.
Gluttony
Word travels fast.
Even among competitors. After all, no-one outside the industry is going to care enough to listen. So, even when they’re competing with you for the same customers, you still tend to talk.
Information gets passed on. Trade secrets, appropriate pricing, good locations, good customers. Everyone finds out sooner or later. Usually sooner.
One afternoon in May, an order arrives. And it’s a dream order. They want multiple servings of every item on the menu, and plenty of extra soda.
Probably a party or something, is the thought. They pack it all up, deliver it to the hotel, and forget about it. Until tomorrow, when the exact same order comes again.
And again the next day.
And yes - word travels fast. By the end of the week, there are twenty-three taco stands within walking distance of the Hyperion.
And all of them are making a nice profit…
Lust
Last night they almost walked straight into a group of vampires. And Gunn grabbed her hand, and pulled her back into a doorway as they passed, and they both stayed quiet until the vampires had moved away, and then they grabbed their weapons and surprised them from behind.
He’d gripped her hand so tightly, so urgently. So differently to the way he held it later, when they bought icecream and wandered home, chatting.
He has such beautiful hands.
They’re strong, and calloused, and made for holding weapons, and they move quickly and so delicately, and she’s beginning to learn how very skilful they are at being in exactly the right place at the perfect time, and making her feel, oh- with everything exactly- and then he- and pretty soon she’s going to get him to show her just how incredible those hands can…
Fred blushes.
Wrath
And she’d been so happy. So excited. So eager to get back to everything.
Now she’s just wondering if she really saw it.
She doesn’t take her eyes off the door until she sees him leave for lunch. Then she slips back inside the lab.
His office is open. The book’s still there. She stares at it.
It’s just a book. Just a physics book. That’s all. She imagined the whole thing. She must have.
And slowly, she opens it. And she didn’t imagine anything.
Symbols, words, numbers, formulae, diagrams detailing the weirdest stuff she’s seen in weeks. It’s all there. But she still can’t quite believe it.
Why would he want…
Yet another bastard messing around with yet another portal.
Another…
No. There’s no way.
She takes another book off the bookcase. Quantum flooding. The next is astrophysics. Then WIMPs. Particle compression. Atomic kinematics. Runic incantations and their effect on transdimensional mystic bleed-through. Mass destabilisation. Amplitude linking. Blood rites. Thaumogenesis. Sephirolk demons and how to capture them. Transpossession.
And it can’t be, there’s no way it could be, but she can’t stop looking now, she has to know, although he couldn’t have, there’s just no way, but still she keeps pulling book after book off the shelves until she finally sees it.
Crv dr pff lr ploos pls vos strp umpt…
Him. It was him.
And he’s going to die.
Sloth
He’s reading the paper when the buzzer sounds.
There’s a stick-thin girl standing at the counter, looking either bored or close to tears, it’s hard to tell.
“Got a room available?”
He nods. “Thirty dollars a night. And we don’t do room service.”
“Sure.” She hands over the money, and eyes him suspiciously. “You’re miserable, right?”
“Huh?”
“You haven’t… found eternal bliss, or anything?”
He glares at her. “You start preaching, and I’m putting the price up to forty.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. I just want a room.”
He hands her a key and a local tourist guide (listing bus routes, and restaurants, and that place where you can buy a miniature plastic Griffith Observatory), but she hands the guide back. “I just want a quiet night in. Do you get the Cartoon Network?”
And she heads up to her room, so he goes back to the paper.
Then, the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard starts talking on the radio, and nothing else matters at all.
Envy
She’s in the middle of the latest report on spectral readings when Fred suddenly catches herself wishing she was Lilah.
Well, that was unexpected.
She dismisses it, and moves on - after all, Lilah was evil, and these spectrometrics aren’t going to analyse themselves - but leaning over a microscope forty-three minutes later, she once again realises that, yes, she wishes she was Lilah.
That’s just… unnatural.
And she’s alone, and it’s going to keep annoying her, so she grabs a marker and starts writing relevant facts up on the whiteboard.
First variable = Lilah (LM)
Second variable = Me (FB)
FB wants to be LM
LM = dead
FB = alive
LM = evil
FB = not evil
LM = Wolfram&Hart = evil
FB = Wolfram&Hart, but not evil even though W&H is
Does FB want to be LM because she secretly wants to be evil? After all, it would make life at W&H easier.
No. Probably not.
LM = rich
LM = intelligent
LM = sexy (at least Wesley thought so)
LM = a vicious bitch
-and that didn’t stop him, for some reason
He must have thought she was worth it.
Fred steps back, and looks at what she’s written so far, and she frowns.
Then she starts writing again.
Third variable = Wesley
Wesley was with LM.
Is it possible that FB wants to be LM because of LM’s relationship with Wesley?
No.
After all, Wesley’s in love with me. I’m sure he is. Wesley’s been in love with me for years.
Even if he hasn’t asked me out recently, that’s just because he thinks I’m still with Knox.
And he doesn’t want to cause friction.
He thinks
He doesn’t just
If there was
He’s very
He slept with Lilah - even though he was in love with me.
And she was evil.
And he just didn’t care.
He went after her anyway.
Forget obstacles - nothing could stop him.
So what’s stopping him now?
Good question.
She’s still standing there, staring at the whiteboard, when Spike wanders in.
He doesn’t say anything - he just reads quietly, and then hands her an eraser.
And together they clean up the mess.
Greed
There are flowers in the vase by the window, and a card that says quite simply “Always”.
There’s a new rug on the floor. It’s yellow and orange, and reminds her of sunsets.
She doesn’t really cook, but the kitchen has cookies, and lots of coffee, and three frozen pizzas saved for emergencies. And there’s a bottle of wine. She’s been saving it for a special occasion.
Why does she always save for a special occasion? Wasn’t yesterday special enough?
There’s a red top hanging in her wardrobe. It’s lacy, and kind of impractical - which is why she bought it. It’s so nice being able to afford things.
So she has five new tops, two new skirts, and eighteen new pairs of shoes. Shopping is fun.
There are four books on her table, all about inverse subparticle waves. She keeps meaning to read them, but she works weird hours, so she usually just watches tv instead.
But she wants to read them. They’re her books, and they look so interesting, and she’s supposed to have time.
There are soft toys on the couch, and under the bed there’s a box of photos she still needs to sort out properly. No-one else will know where half the photos are from.
There’s an unused tube of toothpaste, and one of the chairs wobbles and she’s been meaning to have it repaired, and there’s a phone bill to pay, and she’s still halfway through a formula in the lab, and there’s an episode of Jeopardy she taped and still hasn’t watched yet, and she needs time. There’s never time, and now there’s no time, and she still has so much she needs to do.
There’s a new thai restaurant she wants to try, and a nice pair of earrings she hardly ever wears, and three dirty plates in the sink, and Wesley, and Wesley’s voice, and Wesley’s hands, and Wesley’s eyes - oh god, his eyes - and she’ll never get to gaze into them for hours over a steak dinner, and she’ll never find out what his favourite song is, or what he thinks of Italy, and they’ll never get to grow old together, and she was supposed to have more warning than this.
There’s nothing left. It’s all fading away. And there’s nothing she can do. So she lies there, and watches Wesley, and repeats to herself “I am better than this. I will not let it beat me. I am better than this…”