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essene_backupTitle: Phrases of Longing
Rating: PG
Setting: After “Not Fade Away”
Pairing: I’m not telling.
Author’s Note: This is one of those stories where I fully intended one thing, but the story had its own ideas, so I ended up with something completely different. All thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spiralled3 for her patient and thorough beta work.
********************
Decimated. That’d be a good word. Although something in the back of his head niggled at him and a voice harped that it would be inaccurate usage. Fine. Blown to all hell. How was that?
He stood with the others, blinking in a state of disbelief at the rubble that had been Wolfram & Hart.
Buffy had demonstrated that Xena had nothing on her when she had marched into the International Airport in Rome, demanding a private jet be fueled and ready to go in 20 minutes. The woman at the ticket counter had sniffed arrogantly and explained in pinched tones that her request was impossible. Then Buffy had done that yodel like cry and landed a flying kick to the woman’s patrician jaw. Or that’s how it happened in his head. All he knew was that 15 minutes later they were buckling themselves into a Lear jet headed for America.
Buffy had been quiet for most of the trip. Her eyes flickering from wide and pained, to narrowed and angry. She was beautiful either way, as usual.
On the plane, he sat next to Dawn, her fingers twining in and out of his, her head finding purchase on his shoulder as she dreamed. Now though, now her nails dug into the back of his hand as they blinked at the remains of one of the few groups of people they’d always assumed to be on their side.
He had hated Angel. Had never made a secret of it, but that was more due to his teenage frustration that she would pick a dead guy with fangs over a red-blooded human male. He’d made his peace. She had a...thing for the undead. Made sense if you really thought about it. Or not so much.
Didn’t matter much now anyway, he had Dawn and it was better than he’d ever dreamed. There was nothing to be unsure about here. Or at least not once they’d told people. It was the whole telling thing. That had been the scary part. Sure, the whole illicitness of it had made the petting and stroking and other stuff incredibly hot, but after awhile? The sex wasn’t about the dirty-wrong-reboundness of it, it was about the way she looked at him, touched him, listened to him, and talked to him. He knew he was screwed when he wanted to build her something. And not just a little box, or a picture frame. A house. Where he could live with her, for as long as she’d let him.
But he could still ache for her. And seeing her crumble here, like the ash all around them? Made him want to weep like a non-manly thing. He still wanted to comfort her. He always would. That’s what friends were for...right?
******************
He’d seen her cry before. Even been a source of more than a few of those tears, but this was different. He should have known, should have seen.
He’d always made assumptions about her. Most of which eventually proved erroneous. But he was an old dog and it took more than a smack on the nose to get him to change his ways.
It was more difficult than he’d thought it would be. This acceptance of her as an adult. She still looked so fragile and small, so young and vital. He supposed that she always would, even when babes of her own surrounded her. Closest thing to a child of his own he’d ever allowed himself and he supposed that he’d bumbled it several times along the way. But she’d forgiven him. That was one of the things that amazed him, her capacity to accept and absolve. He was stubborn and narrow-minded and he never bent without a bit of a crack. But she weaved and bobbed with the blows like a green birch.
He should’ve known. She gave her heart away in innocence once. She paid the price and never quite recovered, but she’d healed and learned. And managed to drag him and the others along with her. The second time? The second time she’d meant it, even when he couldn't accept it; couldn't accept that she'd fall for a vampire yet again. She had made the decision with knowledge and emotion as the backers of her heart, even as the rest of them questioned her at every turn.
It was what gave him the strength to visit Olivia. To try again. If this slip of a girl could mend, could begin again, what gave him the right to just give up on his hopes? He’d waited far too long to expect anything from her, but again the females around him proved resilient and merciful. And now she waited for him with the promise of a future of his own contained within her gently swelling belly.
He hoped his Slayer could find a future beyond what he’d tried to give her. She deserved so much more than that, this slight girl in his arms. He held her up as she threatened to crumple to the ground, whispering softly in her ear that she was strong and it was all right, they were here for her. This time, they were all here for her.
****************
I’d have thought it would’ve been cleaned up by now, or at least stopped with the occasional puffs of smoke.
She stared at the rubble in front of her, not quite sure what to make of any of it. She’d been to LA more often in recent years than most of the people surrounding her, possibly even gotten to know those who died better than the others. Well, not as well as Buffy had known Angel, or even Spike, but she at least remembered all their names, unlike Giles who kept asking, “Fred was a girl?”
Buffy had seemed to take it all pretty well until the news flashed across the TV. With Wolfram & Hart’s offices in Rome, it was pretty difficult for a big conglomerate to stay out of the news, especially when part of it goes *POOF*. She was surprised when Buffy had smiled that secret smile she brought out and dusted off for special occasions, the one that said, “I knew you had it in you.”
That was probably why Buffy’d been so harsh on Angel during the last year, what with him heading the California version of the scourge of Rome. Wolfram & Hart, Rome had given them more headaches than the Mayor and Adam combined, almost as many as Glory, but hey, none of them had died, so not.
A brief flash of Rome's head of Wolfram & Hart and her magnificent breasts flicked through her mind. Hey! She of the magnificent breasts had the Grovlar priestesses do that spell, remember? Bad lady. Bad.
Three days ago they’d been having breakfast at a little open-air bistro. They were eating their usual croissant with a cappuccino chaser, while they chatted about--well, who remembers what now--when the blonde--what was her name again?--had approached them.
She was sweet looking. Reminded her of Tara with her open face and expressive eyes. But she’d dropped a bomb that neither one of them had been prepared for. Buffy least of all. She said it had been three months since she’d heard from him. That he’d bought her tickets, said he would join her after he took care of something and then had never shown up. She said she wanted to go back but was afraid of what she’d find...or not find.
Right there at the table, she watched as Buffy’s foundation slid right out from under her. Again. She did what she could, reassuring, offering location spells, promising they’d find out the truth with all their newly forged Old World connections, that it would all be alright. But still she cried.
The blonde had eventually made soft apologies and vacated the premises, sensing that she’d not get what she sought now. It had taken Buffy two days before she stopped tearing up, and one more before her jaw took on a firm set. But once it did? Goddess help anyone or anything who stood in her way. Which was why Kennedy left, okay, not the only reason, but one of them.
How does she do it? Lose so much and still go on? She whispered a quick prayer to the Goddess and watched as Giles tried to comfort her. She’ll always have us, but are we enough?
******************
She felt his arms around her, holding her up. Thank goodness for that. It was very nearly like her mother all over again. This invasive, explosive sense of loss. She’d lost two this go ‘round though. Her first and what she thought might, just might, be her last. But she’d never know now.
When Andrew had delivered the news that he wasn’t dead, well, he was, of course he was, but that he wasn’t...dust, she’d felt that same horrible sensation of her stomach dropping out and floating away that she’d had when Angel returned. What was it with The Powers? Did they just like to torture her? Is that what it meant to be “the one girl in all the world”, even when she wasn’t anymore?
She’d had flashes of a life that shimmered and glinted, teased and promised, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She still didn’t know where the cookie stuff had come from, but she was pretty damned certain she wasn’t even in the oven yet. Then there had been Wolfram & Hart.
They were both there. She couldn’t figure it out. It made no sense to her. Andrew’s giddy, garbled reports didn’t help to clear up anything. All she got from it was that he was alive and something about the ever enduring love of Frolo and Sandwich. Also, Angel and Spike seemed to be working against her now, rather than with her. Once again, everything had turned upside down.
And then there was the girl--Nina. She was nice. Sweet. Pretty. And Nina had cemented the fact in her own head that she and Angel were...over. He’d moved on, and really, so had she; she just hadn’t wanted to admit the fact, well, to his face. For a moment, things had seemed…obvious. He’d moved on. She could too. She could be with the one she did love, whether or not he believed it. She’d make him believe it.
But as Nina kept talking, more things started to click. And the more things clicked, the more things just...fell apart. Things fall apart. Only more than usual in her world.
And now she was standing here. Looking at it. Letting it sink in. The reality of everything washing over her. This was it. She couldn’t take anymore. And really? She didn’t have to. There were thousands of girls out there now; no one had to depend on just her. She could let it all go. See if she could be normal again. Just...walk away.
Instead she leaned against Giles and started crying again. She knew they didn’t get it. That they’d never understand. Hell, half the time she didn’t even understand. But she knew, and that was what mattered. That she knew. But now it was too late.
*********
It was a morbid little group he watched huddle in the rubble. Heads down, feet shuffling, voices low. He suppressed a sudden urge to jump out, head cocked, sly grin and ask, “Who died?” He doubted they’d find the humor. Plus, he couldn’t do it to her.
His fingers had started shaking the instant he saw her. He could barely get the cig out of the pack and to his lips. Forget the lighting. He just sat there with it dangling from his lips, never taking his eyes off her.
She was radiant. Even in sorrow, she glowed. It had always been like that; she the flame, he the moth. And he had burned, hadn’t he?
The poof had known. He couldn’t quite figure out how his bloody sire had known, but he had. Angel told him where and when and by doing so, told him that what he’d once had with her was over. That he was standing down. First time he’d ever known the ponce to do so. Guess that meant something, huh?
Best do it now or not at all. He willed his feet to move and drew himself through the shadows, closer to them, closer to her. When he reached the final spot of shade he stopped. And clicked open his lighter.
*******************
She felt bad. But it wasn’t all because of the mess in front of them. It was mostly because she felt so damned happy when her sister felt so damned miserable. If you’d told her that leaving America would be the best thing that ever happened to her, she’d have cocked her hip, crossed her arms and given a heavily sarcastic, “Whatever.”
Italy was amazing. Beautiful, historic, and filled to the brim with scholarly goodness. She’d been able to immerse herself in human and demonic languages, religious antiquities of every kind imaginable, not to mention the shopping. And then? Then she fell in love.
Buffy had nearly lost her mind--again. It was like she couldn’t fathom her best friend and her little sister being together. It was probably wrong that she took so much secret delight in watching the veins pulse in Buffy’s temple every time she and Xander touched each other, right? She also took inordinate amounts of pleasure in reminding her dear sister that she wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue, and not only had her first boyfriend not even been human, but he was more than 200+ years older than she was; so 4 or 5 years was no big in the grand scheme of things.
She did feel bad though. Buffy was strong. She was wrong to have ignored that on the night she’d sided with Faith. Buffy was the strongest person she knew, which made this…visit so much harder. Watching her sister disintegrate in front of her eyes was horrible. She deserved better than anything she’d ever gotten.
She tore her eyes from her sister’s bowed head as soon as she heard the metallic clink and following rasp. Her eyes roamed over the debris field in front of her (It’s been 3 months! You’d think they’d manage to clean up a mess like this in LA, garbage strike or no) and she knew it had just been wishful thinking. There was nothing there. No one had survived. Nothing had survived.
Leaning further into Xander, she let her eyes flick to the buildings nearby. Then she jerked, inhaling sharply, digging her fingers convulsively into Xander’s skin, eliciting an “Ow! Honey! Pain!” just before she let go and ran towards the aberration that stood in the diminishing shade.
Her mind flew faster than her legs. Buffy’s so gonna kill him! I’m so gonna kill him! Holy crap, he’s alive! Why didn’t he tell us? Where’s he been? Is he okay? He looks okay! He looks exactly the same. Xander’s gonna be so pissed. Buffy’s gonna be so...
She crashed into him, sobbing at his solidity, as he caught her saying, “There now Bit, watch the leather.”
***********
It was through a haze of tears that Buffy watched her sister run across the corner of the ruins, hair streaming behind her, Xander gaping in her wake. Dawn crashed into a wavering figure that was…hell, no, it couldn’t be. She blinked and raised her hands, dashing the tears from her eyes. When she refocused she felt as close to fainting as she ever had. It wasn’t possible. And yet. There he stood.
She looked to her friends and saw the same disbelief and awe on their faces that she felt, and she knew. Squaring her shoulders and desperately trying to resist the urge to check her make-up, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked to meet her destiny.
____________________________________________
I'm oddly nervous about this one, so all feedback would be appreciated, constructive criticism or otherwise.
Rating: PG
Setting: After “Not Fade Away”
Pairing: I’m not telling.
Author’s Note: This is one of those stories where I fully intended one thing, but the story had its own ideas, so I ended up with something completely different. All thanks to
spiralled3 for her patient and thorough beta work.********************
Decimated. That’d be a good word. Although something in the back of his head niggled at him and a voice harped that it would be inaccurate usage. Fine. Blown to all hell. How was that?
He stood with the others, blinking in a state of disbelief at the rubble that had been Wolfram & Hart.
Buffy had demonstrated that Xena had nothing on her when she had marched into the International Airport in Rome, demanding a private jet be fueled and ready to go in 20 minutes. The woman at the ticket counter had sniffed arrogantly and explained in pinched tones that her request was impossible. Then Buffy had done that yodel like cry and landed a flying kick to the woman’s patrician jaw. Or that’s how it happened in his head. All he knew was that 15 minutes later they were buckling themselves into a Lear jet headed for America.
Buffy had been quiet for most of the trip. Her eyes flickering from wide and pained, to narrowed and angry. She was beautiful either way, as usual.
On the plane, he sat next to Dawn, her fingers twining in and out of his, her head finding purchase on his shoulder as she dreamed. Now though, now her nails dug into the back of his hand as they blinked at the remains of one of the few groups of people they’d always assumed to be on their side.
He had hated Angel. Had never made a secret of it, but that was more due to his teenage frustration that she would pick a dead guy with fangs over a red-blooded human male. He’d made his peace. She had a...thing for the undead. Made sense if you really thought about it. Or not so much.
Didn’t matter much now anyway, he had Dawn and it was better than he’d ever dreamed. There was nothing to be unsure about here. Or at least not once they’d told people. It was the whole telling thing. That had been the scary part. Sure, the whole illicitness of it had made the petting and stroking and other stuff incredibly hot, but after awhile? The sex wasn’t about the dirty-wrong-reboundness of it, it was about the way she looked at him, touched him, listened to him, and talked to him. He knew he was screwed when he wanted to build her something. And not just a little box, or a picture frame. A house. Where he could live with her, for as long as she’d let him.
But he could still ache for her. And seeing her crumble here, like the ash all around them? Made him want to weep like a non-manly thing. He still wanted to comfort her. He always would. That’s what friends were for...right?
******************
He’d seen her cry before. Even been a source of more than a few of those tears, but this was different. He should have known, should have seen.
He’d always made assumptions about her. Most of which eventually proved erroneous. But he was an old dog and it took more than a smack on the nose to get him to change his ways.
It was more difficult than he’d thought it would be. This acceptance of her as an adult. She still looked so fragile and small, so young and vital. He supposed that she always would, even when babes of her own surrounded her. Closest thing to a child of his own he’d ever allowed himself and he supposed that he’d bumbled it several times along the way. But she’d forgiven him. That was one of the things that amazed him, her capacity to accept and absolve. He was stubborn and narrow-minded and he never bent without a bit of a crack. But she weaved and bobbed with the blows like a green birch.
He should’ve known. She gave her heart away in innocence once. She paid the price and never quite recovered, but she’d healed and learned. And managed to drag him and the others along with her. The second time? The second time she’d meant it, even when he couldn't accept it; couldn't accept that she'd fall for a vampire yet again. She had made the decision with knowledge and emotion as the backers of her heart, even as the rest of them questioned her at every turn.
It was what gave him the strength to visit Olivia. To try again. If this slip of a girl could mend, could begin again, what gave him the right to just give up on his hopes? He’d waited far too long to expect anything from her, but again the females around him proved resilient and merciful. And now she waited for him with the promise of a future of his own contained within her gently swelling belly.
He hoped his Slayer could find a future beyond what he’d tried to give her. She deserved so much more than that, this slight girl in his arms. He held her up as she threatened to crumple to the ground, whispering softly in her ear that she was strong and it was all right, they were here for her. This time, they were all here for her.
****************
I’d have thought it would’ve been cleaned up by now, or at least stopped with the occasional puffs of smoke.
She stared at the rubble in front of her, not quite sure what to make of any of it. She’d been to LA more often in recent years than most of the people surrounding her, possibly even gotten to know those who died better than the others. Well, not as well as Buffy had known Angel, or even Spike, but she at least remembered all their names, unlike Giles who kept asking, “Fred was a girl?”
Buffy had seemed to take it all pretty well until the news flashed across the TV. With Wolfram & Hart’s offices in Rome, it was pretty difficult for a big conglomerate to stay out of the news, especially when part of it goes *POOF*. She was surprised when Buffy had smiled that secret smile she brought out and dusted off for special occasions, the one that said, “I knew you had it in you.”
That was probably why Buffy’d been so harsh on Angel during the last year, what with him heading the California version of the scourge of Rome. Wolfram & Hart, Rome had given them more headaches than the Mayor and Adam combined, almost as many as Glory, but hey, none of them had died, so not.
A brief flash of Rome's head of Wolfram & Hart and her magnificent breasts flicked through her mind. Hey! She of the magnificent breasts had the Grovlar priestesses do that spell, remember? Bad lady. Bad.
Three days ago they’d been having breakfast at a little open-air bistro. They were eating their usual croissant with a cappuccino chaser, while they chatted about--well, who remembers what now--when the blonde--what was her name again?--had approached them.
She was sweet looking. Reminded her of Tara with her open face and expressive eyes. But she’d dropped a bomb that neither one of them had been prepared for. Buffy least of all. She said it had been three months since she’d heard from him. That he’d bought her tickets, said he would join her after he took care of something and then had never shown up. She said she wanted to go back but was afraid of what she’d find...or not find.
Right there at the table, she watched as Buffy’s foundation slid right out from under her. Again. She did what she could, reassuring, offering location spells, promising they’d find out the truth with all their newly forged Old World connections, that it would all be alright. But still she cried.
The blonde had eventually made soft apologies and vacated the premises, sensing that she’d not get what she sought now. It had taken Buffy two days before she stopped tearing up, and one more before her jaw took on a firm set. But once it did? Goddess help anyone or anything who stood in her way. Which was why Kennedy left, okay, not the only reason, but one of them.
How does she do it? Lose so much and still go on? She whispered a quick prayer to the Goddess and watched as Giles tried to comfort her. She’ll always have us, but are we enough?
******************
She felt his arms around her, holding her up. Thank goodness for that. It was very nearly like her mother all over again. This invasive, explosive sense of loss. She’d lost two this go ‘round though. Her first and what she thought might, just might, be her last. But she’d never know now.
When Andrew had delivered the news that he wasn’t dead, well, he was, of course he was, but that he wasn’t...dust, she’d felt that same horrible sensation of her stomach dropping out and floating away that she’d had when Angel returned. What was it with The Powers? Did they just like to torture her? Is that what it meant to be “the one girl in all the world”, even when she wasn’t anymore?
She’d had flashes of a life that shimmered and glinted, teased and promised, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She still didn’t know where the cookie stuff had come from, but she was pretty damned certain she wasn’t even in the oven yet. Then there had been Wolfram & Hart.
They were both there. She couldn’t figure it out. It made no sense to her. Andrew’s giddy, garbled reports didn’t help to clear up anything. All she got from it was that he was alive and something about the ever enduring love of Frolo and Sandwich. Also, Angel and Spike seemed to be working against her now, rather than with her. Once again, everything had turned upside down.
And then there was the girl--Nina. She was nice. Sweet. Pretty. And Nina had cemented the fact in her own head that she and Angel were...over. He’d moved on, and really, so had she; she just hadn’t wanted to admit the fact, well, to his face. For a moment, things had seemed…obvious. He’d moved on. She could too. She could be with the one she did love, whether or not he believed it. She’d make him believe it.
But as Nina kept talking, more things started to click. And the more things clicked, the more things just...fell apart. Things fall apart. Only more than usual in her world.
And now she was standing here. Looking at it. Letting it sink in. The reality of everything washing over her. This was it. She couldn’t take anymore. And really? She didn’t have to. There were thousands of girls out there now; no one had to depend on just her. She could let it all go. See if she could be normal again. Just...walk away.
Instead she leaned against Giles and started crying again. She knew they didn’t get it. That they’d never understand. Hell, half the time she didn’t even understand. But she knew, and that was what mattered. That she knew. But now it was too late.
*********
It was a morbid little group he watched huddle in the rubble. Heads down, feet shuffling, voices low. He suppressed a sudden urge to jump out, head cocked, sly grin and ask, “Who died?” He doubted they’d find the humor. Plus, he couldn’t do it to her.
His fingers had started shaking the instant he saw her. He could barely get the cig out of the pack and to his lips. Forget the lighting. He just sat there with it dangling from his lips, never taking his eyes off her.
She was radiant. Even in sorrow, she glowed. It had always been like that; she the flame, he the moth. And he had burned, hadn’t he?
The poof had known. He couldn’t quite figure out how his bloody sire had known, but he had. Angel told him where and when and by doing so, told him that what he’d once had with her was over. That he was standing down. First time he’d ever known the ponce to do so. Guess that meant something, huh?
Best do it now or not at all. He willed his feet to move and drew himself through the shadows, closer to them, closer to her. When he reached the final spot of shade he stopped. And clicked open his lighter.
*******************
She felt bad. But it wasn’t all because of the mess in front of them. It was mostly because she felt so damned happy when her sister felt so damned miserable. If you’d told her that leaving America would be the best thing that ever happened to her, she’d have cocked her hip, crossed her arms and given a heavily sarcastic, “Whatever.”
Italy was amazing. Beautiful, historic, and filled to the brim with scholarly goodness. She’d been able to immerse herself in human and demonic languages, religious antiquities of every kind imaginable, not to mention the shopping. And then? Then she fell in love.
Buffy had nearly lost her mind--again. It was like she couldn’t fathom her best friend and her little sister being together. It was probably wrong that she took so much secret delight in watching the veins pulse in Buffy’s temple every time she and Xander touched each other, right? She also took inordinate amounts of pleasure in reminding her dear sister that she wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue, and not only had her first boyfriend not even been human, but he was more than 200+ years older than she was; so 4 or 5 years was no big in the grand scheme of things.
She did feel bad though. Buffy was strong. She was wrong to have ignored that on the night she’d sided with Faith. Buffy was the strongest person she knew, which made this…visit so much harder. Watching her sister disintegrate in front of her eyes was horrible. She deserved better than anything she’d ever gotten.
She tore her eyes from her sister’s bowed head as soon as she heard the metallic clink and following rasp. Her eyes roamed over the debris field in front of her (It’s been 3 months! You’d think they’d manage to clean up a mess like this in LA, garbage strike or no) and she knew it had just been wishful thinking. There was nothing there. No one had survived. Nothing had survived.
Leaning further into Xander, she let her eyes flick to the buildings nearby. Then she jerked, inhaling sharply, digging her fingers convulsively into Xander’s skin, eliciting an “Ow! Honey! Pain!” just before she let go and ran towards the aberration that stood in the diminishing shade.
Her mind flew faster than her legs. Buffy’s so gonna kill him! I’m so gonna kill him! Holy crap, he’s alive! Why didn’t he tell us? Where’s he been? Is he okay? He looks okay! He looks exactly the same. Xander’s gonna be so pissed. Buffy’s gonna be so...
She crashed into him, sobbing at his solidity, as he caught her saying, “There now Bit, watch the leather.”
***********
It was through a haze of tears that Buffy watched her sister run across the corner of the ruins, hair streaming behind her, Xander gaping in her wake. Dawn crashed into a wavering figure that was…hell, no, it couldn’t be. She blinked and raised her hands, dashing the tears from her eyes. When she refocused she felt as close to fainting as she ever had. It wasn’t possible. And yet. There he stood.
She looked to her friends and saw the same disbelief and awe on their faces that she felt, and she knew. Squaring her shoulders and desperately trying to resist the urge to check her make-up, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked to meet her destiny.
____________________________________________
I'm oddly nervous about this one, so all feedback would be appreciated, constructive criticism or otherwise.
