Spikeid III
Having come back from uni yesterday and about to start other work tomorrow, I'm rather struck with the feeling that now would be a good point to post this. I think it's just about ready for consumption...!
THANK YOU![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gillo, as always for your invaluable beta skillz. I know we haven't done much on this in a while, but it seems to have matured into something I'm happy with, like a cheese or a port or something.
Ratings etc. are fairly standard for the series - PG-13; 4000-ish words (500-ish lines); still feeling the Spuffy; OCs are starting to be sprinkled more liberally; warnings for death/grief and consent/agency issues (non-sexual)
Buffy concludes her tale of coming to LA.
[II]
III
“I ran the way I'd come, went back to find
The others, but I only got so far –
Before you reach the stairs the second floor
Has got this corridor, real narrow so
You can't have loads of people running down
It all at once. There Sadie, she was stuck
Along it, standing, trying to push, you know,
Like when that vengeance demon made the house
So none of us could leave? On either side,
A few feet just in front of her, Gurpreet,
Eliza, both of them were standing back
Against the wall, lips moving as they stared
At Sadie, holding her in place. Stalemate.
I’m hovering behind them, trying to think
Of what to do, because you know how me
And magic aren’t exactly this year’s best
New flavour combo down at Dairy Queen.
I think I kinda proved that with the way
I let Osiris get his hooks in me.
As usual I got my violence on
And made a fist to try and knock her out;
Seventy-five percent of me was sure
It couldn’t be that easy, but what else
Was there to do? Or lose? I snuck up close
Behind her, but the moment I’d prepared
Myself and brought my elbow up
Eliza and Gurpreet, their heads smashed back
Against the wall and Sadie spun around,
Her shoulder knocking past my fist. I tried
To throw my punch but Sadie's hand came round
My fingers, cutting in between the bones.
The darkness in her eyes was absolute
And she was smiling with a cruelty that
Should not have worked on Sadie’s face, but all
The same was there. I tried to speak, but all
The words died in my throat like characters
From crappy Regencies my mom would read,
Limp-hand-on-forehead-fainting at the sight
Of something otherworldly. Maybe I
Was being held by thrall or something, but
It didn’t feel like that, or how, at least,
I think it felt when I first died. But that’s
Another story. Wow, do I tell you
The most uplifting things you’ve ever heard
Or what...
OK, so I was standing there,
Not doing anything that was of use,
When she began to speak, right in my face,
Her voice all deep and hollowed out, like when
She’d been with Giles in his office, but
Now she was saying things to me I found
Out that her breath had been made colder too.
Not vamp-breath cold, which if you're me is not
So bad, but actual rigor-mortis-corpse-
Type cold. Refrigerators-at-the-morgue.
She said, 'So sad for no real reason. Why,
You know as well as I that you don't walk
Within this world; no Slayer does. But yes,
I see, I see: you tell yourself these lies
As though the truth of centuries does not
Apply to you. You walk, you talk – was that
The way you phrased it? Yes, you shop, you sneeze,
So darling, really. Yet this clinging to
Mortality, your curse – obsession one
Might call it – has so little point.' At that
She paused a second, grew more serious.
It wasn't better than her mocking me;
She glared a little harder, said, 'Know this.
I see the touch of heaven mark your step,
I see the touch of hell conceal the tracks.
You think the Slayer is a force that you
Can slaughter as a sacrifice then serve
The parts as equal fare, but you should know
That she was but one woman; as you claim
So often for yourself. And you are whom
She chose to carry on her line. It's yours,
This power, does not matter if you share
The trappings with a nod to make the task
That little easier. Those two I struck
Against the wall, my friends – not I, not one
Of us can share the smallest fragment of
Your burden or the task that lies ahead
Of you. I deal in death, I can't resist,
But you must deal in more, for you must leave
This castle, find that other city in
The ruins it becomes and found it new.'
So now I'm thinking somehow Andrew did
A spell to take us out of real life
And put us in a video game – with this
The part where someone picks my character
And names me Boobies. Yeah, I almost laughed.
‘OK,’ I said, and took control of my
Emotions. There was so much going on,
But finally I found my anger deep
Beneath the tears and laughter fighting for
Attention. ‘What the hell? Am I supposed
To understand a single word of this?
You tell me I'm pathetic, tell me that
I'm useless as a Slayer, then you tell
Me I'm supposed to leave all this behind
And go to save LA, no, wait, go found
LA, as if it isn't there right now?
I think that people might be pissed if I
Arrive, a crossbow on my back, and tell
Them they're not meant to be there 'cause
I haven't made the city yet. I mean,
I know that it's not Sadie in there, that's
A little obvious (and, by the way,
Get out and give her back), but what do you
Expect, Osiris, if it's you? Am I
Supposed to fall in line when you not more
Than ten minutes ago stood in that room
And murdered Giles in front of me and left
Him on that floor like he was nothing much
Important after all; his death not worth
A second of your time? No matter that
You made out it was so damn crucial that
You kill – You’re even crazier than I
Had thought.' I paused but then I couldn't stop,
Kept on, 'Come on, you know you want to spew
Your psychobabble. Get it out. Come on.'
She didn't though. She didn't say a word.
Her smile still was there, five fingers viced
Around my fist. She brought her other hand
Up higher, touching fingers to my eyes.
I couldn't move an inch. Then 'See,' she said,
'Like I see. See what choice you make.'
“I saw.
Oh God, I saw you guys all fighting in
An alleyway, the demons rushing down
The street, Illyria and you and Gunn –
Is that his name? – and then... Well you, you saw
It too, saw Angel and that dragon fight?
How he was separate from the crowd and full
Of anger, bitterness for how things had
Turned out? He had that sword held up against
The dragon, cutting, turning, feeling righteous 'till
It sank in with the rain what little point
There was, with Connor not the same and part
Of someone else's family, with Fred
And Wesley and Cordelia all gone.
And you could see it sinking in, the way
It made him strike that dragon harder, lose
Himself in moving, not in strategy.
You saw it too, I know you did, I saw
You try to get there, yelling, pushing past
The demons, but then Gunn was hit and fell
So you could hear the crunching of his spine...
It was no way your fault, believe me, Spike,
By that point he was set on it – he left
His rage behind him, looked the dragon in
The eye and thought he'd meet the yellow with
His own. He couldn't even hear what you
Were shouting; everything seemed silent, still.
The dragon tried to play with him and he
Just let it, stepping dance steps past its wings,
The rain still drumming on his head, the wind
Still blowing both the tails of his coat
The way he liked them. There was, I don't know,
A lurching in his stomach as they fought
A little quicker, jets of flame red hot
And not extinguished even as they hit
The rain, but while his body tensed his mind
Was calm; he felt like now he understood
It all, despite the fact he had no words
To say the way he felt. He moved in time
To music that he couldn't hear and thought
Was probably inaudible, turned once
And raised his sword up high, his other arm
To balance, launched the killing blow and knew
That he was gonna burn. I screamed – I know,
I wasn't really there, but still I screamed.
I couldn't move to run toward him, had
No body to respond. (I didn't make
A sound, I guess, for all my screaming. Did
Not feel that way right then.) You ran to him,
I saw that, you and what's-her-name, with Gunn
Between you, ran and saw and had to keep
On going, through the hole the dragon's tail
Had smashed into the building next to you.
Gunn told you there were sewers as he fell
Into unconsciousness. You couldn't speak.
I watched you go. I knew as well as you
That Angel wasn't meant to die yet, though
He'd felt that way. I knew it; irony's
A bitch. That understanding that he'd felt,
It hadn't meant that he was meant to die.
I watched you go and knew it in my gut.
Now you were gonna have to fight alone,
And obviously you weren't gonna suck,
'Cause you, you're good at all this stuff, but now
You didn't have the back-up that you would
Have had before. Two fighters on their own,
They can't be everywhere at once, and I
Was so afraid, that moment that I watched,
Afraid that you were gonna die again.
I couldn't cope 'cause it was all too much:
It felt like part of me was mourning Giles
And slowly realising that he was gone –
Another part still seeing Angel, flames
All burning brightly on my retinas –
And then a final part was tensing at
The thought that in the future you might die –
I couldn't cope. You know the way that Dawn
Takes labels off her soda bottles, tears
Them into shreds? Yeah, that was how I felt.
And even now it hasn't gone away.
I watched you go and that was when he chose,
Osiris chose, to bring me back; it jarred
So badly, waking up, so I fell down,
But then I realised Sadie falling next
To me. I had to catch her by the arms,
'Cause she was shaking, but she shrank away,
Pushed back to curl alone against the wall,
Her eyes squeezed shut and sobs erupting in
Her throat. Eliza and Gurpreet were up –
See, I could see them in the corner of
My eye – they came in closer, touched her back,
But Sadie jerked away and clutched the floor,
Was sick so violently... Gurpreet just stroked
Her hair, Eliza turned and looked to me,
Hissed 'Scheiße' with a sigh the moment that
She saw my face. 'It's bad?' she asked, but I
Could see that Sadie stilled to listen, so
I didn't want to say. I didn't, could
Not blame her. I replied, 'I have to tell
The others.' Not the Slayers, but the gang,
'Cause that was what I meant – I meant to tell
Them first, but Xander, Dawn... They were all
I had to tell, 'cause Andrew knew, just two
Of us from Sunnydale before I had
To be official. That, it made me shut
My eyes again.
“And yet, I told them both.
I played the sister and the sister-mom,
The daughter as I clung to Dawn a while.
And then, eventually, inevitably,
I got a team together for LA,
To find you guys, I hoped, but mainly so
That we could make it safe for more of us
To come. They volunteered; first Sadie came,
She felt she had to, so Eliza and
Gurpreet came too – and there's this other girl,
Krystina, who knows Sadie well because
She's Czech, and Sadie is the only one
Who also took some high school Russian. And
They both play violin, I think. The rest
Are friends from somewhere, 'cept for Rita, she's
A loner. Gets on well with Faith, the times
She visits...
“Oh, my god, no, crap, I meant –
I never told her, Faith, about it all;
She doesn't know that Giles, Angel – she...”
And that's when Buffy stops. Her words once more
Are victims slaughtered while unspoken in
Her throat. She’s lost again, once more bereft
Of knowledge how she might proceed, for this,
She told herself when she began, was meant
To be the end of it, catharsis and
Confession bringing absolution of
Her grief. She knows that she can tell it once,
But more than that? When she sees Faith, just what
Is she supposed to say? She can't control
Herself a second time. And Spike was there
For most of it, he knows, she knows, the way
That Angel fell. She's ripped an unhealed wound,
Wide open, she can see it in his face.
He lies there, quiet, looking at her with
Such sympathy, despite his own pain there
Beneath it all, which makes another crack
Fragment her heart. His hurt refracts in hers,
And hers, she realises, in his. She can't
Now speak another word, so stares instead
At how the shadows wisp along his face
And lets the hands that rest between them twine
Together, not exactly comfortable
As hers rests over his, but welcome still.
The feel of his cool skin and knuckles is
Much better than the roughness of the floor.
He wants to know the ending, how she came
To find him, how she came to lose the group,
And she can understand that, but she knows
The words won't come a second time. She sees
Too far ahead, imagines Faith's dark eyes
Harsh calling on her for another full
And comprehensive recitation so
That she can understand. And if she says
It now she won't be able to tell Faith.
And as it is she really hates it when
She has to speechify; she knows that she's
Not very good. He has to understand.
She shifts and rolls to look above her at
The shadowed ceiling, taking her left hand
From his and swapping in her right to find
His left (he's shifted too). Then forcibly
She shuts her eyes and wills herself again
To sleep. Sleep doesn't come. Inside her mind
All she can hear is British muttering;
Gurpreet was not impressed with Hollywood.
'This looks like Manchester,’ she gripes, despite
A snort from someone else who tells her then,
‘It really don't.’ She says, ‘I could have gone
To Manchester by train, seen Aunty Dee
And Amerdeep, or got my nails done.
Or maybe got a coat.' Another friend
Cuts in, 'What's that you're wearing now?' 'Well, yeah,
Whatever, Mina; 's too thin, innit? Need
A hoodie.' Buffy thought that maybe all
Brit-Asians were this loud, but ages back
Samina nipped that line of thought before
It bloomed completely, told her, 'We're the ones
Who aren't, like, getting chained to desks and shit.
There's gotta be thousands girls out there you'll need
To give more 'n superpowers to get them out
Here fighting evil. Not like most the world
Is living in an MEDC, na?
Where's all of us from proper India,
Or China? Living pretty shitty lives.'
She wouldn't trade her loudmouths for the world,
But still she wonders where the shy girls are,
The ones that Hellmouths turn invisible;
How many are alone in Africa
Or somewhere else, with strength to keep them safe
But nothing else, no way of knowing they
Have sisters? Even strong there's only so
Much force you can defend against. And what
About the other women, people of
The world, without the Slayer power-boost?
She tries to think that she can only fight
One battle at a time, and that the world's
Existence needs to be prioritised,
But then it feels like she should somehow have
The power to do more.
Of course, it's not
As if she's doing well with all the girls
She's got. The memory goes around again
Elise rolls her eyes and says, 'You are
A witch. Why don't you make it warmer for
Yourself?' But then there's scoffing, 'Yeah, good plan,
'Cause Durga and the rest are gonna go
For that.' A sigh and, 'Tja, you see that this
Is why I walk the pagan path. And why
It's good sometimes to be much fatter than
A thirty-six.' 'Elise, you're not fat.'
All banter, chatter, laughter in the night
Too loud and yet she doesn’t tell them so,
Just lets them carry on until in one
Stark second Sadie jerks up straight and speaks
In her most flute-like breathy whisper, sign
That in that moment she’s been struck by her
Prophetic intuition, ‘Something’s there.’
Inside her mind then Buffy hears her own
Reply, that she'll scout on ahead. She sees
It all again, the way she left them as
She headed down the street; she feels the rain
That came so fast and drummed across her back.
She trusted Sadie, so, she thinks, she should
Have led them all together – after all
It's not as though she's ever had much time
For strategy. But something happens when
She has an army, or a troop at least,
That makes her go all General Buffy, makes
Her want to look a little organised.
She comes up to an intersection, hears
The sound of something rushing, breathes a gasp
And turns back to the others, but it's all
Too slow, the rain too loud. She sees it then:
The pack is coming at them, snarling jaws,
Their shapes not fully visible, the din
So loud, feet thundering across the wet
And broken concrete as she tries to call
Her orders, rain now pounding on her head:
Retreat to higher ground, to somewhere safe.
Distraction in the corner of her eye –
A flash of light reflecting on a shock
Of hair? It's nowhere near conclusive, but
It's still enough for maybe five or six
More demons all to blindside her and toss
Her too-frail body hard between them, knock
Her tumbling down some subway stairs and crack
Her ankle hard beneath her as a cry
Escapes her throat to echo in the dark.
That concrete floor was hard beneath her back,
The smell so cold and damp, forgotten ground
Reclaiming tunnels back from the machines,
Reclaiming her, perhaps, if she did not
Get up. It hurt so much, and she could hear
The rain still splashing hard against the steps.
With every second damp crept further through
Her jacket, causing her to shiver, but
That awful voice began to whisper all
The same. If she stayed lying there, then not
A soul would know, her friends would not believe
That she had given up. She had the chance
To jump through the escape hatch, leave it all
Behind. It doesn't come that often, not
To her, and she's resisted every time,
Except back on the tower, when the fates
Agreed to dress up the apocalypse
To let her have a noble sacrifice.
The ceiling up above her head, of Spike's
Apartment, even though it's lighter, feels
The same to her, much less oppressive than
The sky. She might as well have never moved,
Though now she’s here her ankle doesn’t hurt
So much. Could she have stayed there? Let it all
Resolve without her? Let the others work
It out while she stopped thinking, of the dead
And of her duty? She would like to think
That Spike would let her go and leave without
Much blaming her or telling everyone.
She thinks he’d go for it. Hey, maybe this
Is how it's meant to be: she brings the gang
And lets the world be saved. Despite the bull
Osiris pushed in Sadie's mind to say,
She's not all that important. That might make
Some sense with all the years she's fought for. No
Point getting self-obsessed.
Or maybe she's
A coward, letting grief catch up with her,
Too weak to Slay. For all she knows her group
Is dead, all chased and lost and lying as
A group of bloody corpses on the street.
She saw the bodies at the bus station –
Yeah, welcome to Los Angeles, CA.
But what does she do? Lie here crying in
A not-so-warm but still-so-cosy room
That shelters her from all the death outside.
She’s selfish, selfish, selfish taking this
While Giles rots in Scottish soil. More
Than selfish; something like a joke played on
The world that thought she would be useful here.
Her hands come up to shut away her face
And stay there even as she hears the shift
Of Spike and bedclothes, feels his fingertips
So gingerly against her shoulder. She
Is shaking (and she thinks that he is too);
She can’t control the hiccoughs in her throat;
He tugs her round until she’s on her side,
Her bony fingers locked between her face
And all the muscles of his chest, but still
She’s shaking. She can only wonder how
She looks to Scary Goth Queen up above
Her head. No refunds for a front-row seat
At Buffy’s extra special breakdown. No
Exchange; you’ve gotta see the show. Shame this
With her a sobbing wreck curled on the floor
Is really not the one she meant to give.
Illyria has heard, of course she has,
But she is not concerned with present time.
It is the imminence of dreams that grips
Her thoughts and kindles soft a furling wisp
Of fear in her gut. For sleep has found
The mind of Charles Gunn, and now seeks out
The two below her lying on the floor.
She does not sleep, but lately dreams have come
Upon her, fits of painful ecstasy,
Crescendi of the doubts that should not be
Existent in her mind, played perfectly
In time to murmurings that she can hear
From her companions, lost in dreams. In this,
The time when sleep is slowly summoned to
The mortals’ minds, her shell’s eyes have begun
To fail her and mould the frail light
Of the apartment’s candles till the room’s
Black-shadowed corners have become the haunts
Of fey and leering apparitions. She
Cannot believe that they are even less
Mundane than she, but yet she does not know
Whence they do come. Tonight they look on her
With promises of sights more vivid than
Before – the Slayer’s dreams, they say, will strike
Her mind with all the blades and daggers Fred
Once wielded as her emotions, strike
Much deeper than she can anticipate.
What is the cause? What is the cause of this?
(She asks, for panic always is the first
To pierce the soundness of her royal mind.)
She lays blame at the portal; this is a
Phenomenon that should not happen in
This world. The myths of shells, none ever spoke
Of agony as terrible as this.
The echoes and impressions left on cells
That alter her perception, those she had
Anticipated, deemed irrelevant
(And still does not think to outweigh the joy
Of sentient existence), but not this.
The night creeps on and soon not Sleep but Dream
Is heralded by one mere moment’s change.
There is a screaming in her mind, from far
Away; she thinks it is Illyria,
Or the Illyria who she once was,
But no, Illyria would never scream
For something so banal as this, this light
That floods her vision, casts on her the pain
Of turbulent emotion: Who is safe?
Where is her foe? Why shines the light so bright?
The many eyes of Cerberus are lit
With bitter anger, staring up from wounds
Still wet and weeping in the ground, cut through
The light and pouring darkness as the scream
Becomes a roar. And there is too much pain.
The eyes are Angel’s, hollow in his face;
His body just a shell as much as hers,
While snarls and slatherings of Cerberus
Resound and promise she will be consumed –
But maybe she will let him, let him eat,
Let him devour the entire world –
The dream is broken and Illyria
Is breathing hard, released and free for one
Short moment, solved of feeling. She would be
Ashamed of the emotion that she felt,
But to be so would be supposing she
Has flaws, which she does not. Her thoughts are turned
Instead to the more concrete content of
The dream; what did the Slayer see? The past?
Or yet the coming future; does she have
That faculty? What more will she (and will
Illyria) foresee as Night goes on?
But, oh, your academic ponderings
Are rendered moot, Illyria, for on
The visions come, possess you with the night.
Abandon hopes for godhead; long it is
Until you will return to how you were.
Sleep wracks you all; the morning’s far away.
[IV]
THANK YOU
gillo, as always for your invaluable beta skillz. I know we haven't done much on this in a while, but it seems to have matured into something I'm happy with, like a cheese or a port or something.Ratings etc. are fairly standard for the series - PG-13; 4000-ish words (500-ish lines); still feeling the Spuffy; OCs are starting to be sprinkled more liberally; warnings for death/grief and consent/agency issues (non-sexual)
Buffy concludes her tale of coming to LA.
[II]
III
“I ran the way I'd come, went back to find
The others, but I only got so far –
Before you reach the stairs the second floor
Has got this corridor, real narrow so
You can't have loads of people running down
It all at once. There Sadie, she was stuck
Along it, standing, trying to push, you know,
Like when that vengeance demon made the house
So none of us could leave? On either side,
A few feet just in front of her, Gurpreet,
Eliza, both of them were standing back
Against the wall, lips moving as they stared
At Sadie, holding her in place. Stalemate.
I’m hovering behind them, trying to think
Of what to do, because you know how me
And magic aren’t exactly this year’s best
New flavour combo down at Dairy Queen.
I think I kinda proved that with the way
I let Osiris get his hooks in me.
As usual I got my violence on
And made a fist to try and knock her out;
Seventy-five percent of me was sure
It couldn’t be that easy, but what else
Was there to do? Or lose? I snuck up close
Behind her, but the moment I’d prepared
Myself and brought my elbow up
Eliza and Gurpreet, their heads smashed back
Against the wall and Sadie spun around,
Her shoulder knocking past my fist. I tried
To throw my punch but Sadie's hand came round
My fingers, cutting in between the bones.
The darkness in her eyes was absolute
And she was smiling with a cruelty that
Should not have worked on Sadie’s face, but all
The same was there. I tried to speak, but all
The words died in my throat like characters
From crappy Regencies my mom would read,
Limp-hand-on-forehead-fainting at the sight
Of something otherworldly. Maybe I
Was being held by thrall or something, but
It didn’t feel like that, or how, at least,
I think it felt when I first died. But that’s
Another story. Wow, do I tell you
The most uplifting things you’ve ever heard
Or what...
OK, so I was standing there,
Not doing anything that was of use,
When she began to speak, right in my face,
Her voice all deep and hollowed out, like when
She’d been with Giles in his office, but
Now she was saying things to me I found
Out that her breath had been made colder too.
Not vamp-breath cold, which if you're me is not
So bad, but actual rigor-mortis-corpse-
Type cold. Refrigerators-at-the-morgue.
She said, 'So sad for no real reason. Why,
You know as well as I that you don't walk
Within this world; no Slayer does. But yes,
I see, I see: you tell yourself these lies
As though the truth of centuries does not
Apply to you. You walk, you talk – was that
The way you phrased it? Yes, you shop, you sneeze,
So darling, really. Yet this clinging to
Mortality, your curse – obsession one
Might call it – has so little point.' At that
She paused a second, grew more serious.
It wasn't better than her mocking me;
She glared a little harder, said, 'Know this.
I see the touch of heaven mark your step,
I see the touch of hell conceal the tracks.
You think the Slayer is a force that you
Can slaughter as a sacrifice then serve
The parts as equal fare, but you should know
That she was but one woman; as you claim
So often for yourself. And you are whom
She chose to carry on her line. It's yours,
This power, does not matter if you share
The trappings with a nod to make the task
That little easier. Those two I struck
Against the wall, my friends – not I, not one
Of us can share the smallest fragment of
Your burden or the task that lies ahead
Of you. I deal in death, I can't resist,
But you must deal in more, for you must leave
This castle, find that other city in
The ruins it becomes and found it new.'
So now I'm thinking somehow Andrew did
A spell to take us out of real life
And put us in a video game – with this
The part where someone picks my character
And names me Boobies. Yeah, I almost laughed.
‘OK,’ I said, and took control of my
Emotions. There was so much going on,
But finally I found my anger deep
Beneath the tears and laughter fighting for
Attention. ‘What the hell? Am I supposed
To understand a single word of this?
You tell me I'm pathetic, tell me that
I'm useless as a Slayer, then you tell
Me I'm supposed to leave all this behind
And go to save LA, no, wait, go found
LA, as if it isn't there right now?
I think that people might be pissed if I
Arrive, a crossbow on my back, and tell
Them they're not meant to be there 'cause
I haven't made the city yet. I mean,
I know that it's not Sadie in there, that's
A little obvious (and, by the way,
Get out and give her back), but what do you
Expect, Osiris, if it's you? Am I
Supposed to fall in line when you not more
Than ten minutes ago stood in that room
And murdered Giles in front of me and left
Him on that floor like he was nothing much
Important after all; his death not worth
A second of your time? No matter that
You made out it was so damn crucial that
You kill – You’re even crazier than I
Had thought.' I paused but then I couldn't stop,
Kept on, 'Come on, you know you want to spew
Your psychobabble. Get it out. Come on.'
She didn't though. She didn't say a word.
Her smile still was there, five fingers viced
Around my fist. She brought her other hand
Up higher, touching fingers to my eyes.
I couldn't move an inch. Then 'See,' she said,
'Like I see. See what choice you make.'
“I saw.
Oh God, I saw you guys all fighting in
An alleyway, the demons rushing down
The street, Illyria and you and Gunn –
Is that his name? – and then... Well you, you saw
It too, saw Angel and that dragon fight?
How he was separate from the crowd and full
Of anger, bitterness for how things had
Turned out? He had that sword held up against
The dragon, cutting, turning, feeling righteous 'till
It sank in with the rain what little point
There was, with Connor not the same and part
Of someone else's family, with Fred
And Wesley and Cordelia all gone.
And you could see it sinking in, the way
It made him strike that dragon harder, lose
Himself in moving, not in strategy.
You saw it too, I know you did, I saw
You try to get there, yelling, pushing past
The demons, but then Gunn was hit and fell
So you could hear the crunching of his spine...
It was no way your fault, believe me, Spike,
By that point he was set on it – he left
His rage behind him, looked the dragon in
The eye and thought he'd meet the yellow with
His own. He couldn't even hear what you
Were shouting; everything seemed silent, still.
The dragon tried to play with him and he
Just let it, stepping dance steps past its wings,
The rain still drumming on his head, the wind
Still blowing both the tails of his coat
The way he liked them. There was, I don't know,
A lurching in his stomach as they fought
A little quicker, jets of flame red hot
And not extinguished even as they hit
The rain, but while his body tensed his mind
Was calm; he felt like now he understood
It all, despite the fact he had no words
To say the way he felt. He moved in time
To music that he couldn't hear and thought
Was probably inaudible, turned once
And raised his sword up high, his other arm
To balance, launched the killing blow and knew
That he was gonna burn. I screamed – I know,
I wasn't really there, but still I screamed.
I couldn't move to run toward him, had
No body to respond. (I didn't make
A sound, I guess, for all my screaming. Did
Not feel that way right then.) You ran to him,
I saw that, you and what's-her-name, with Gunn
Between you, ran and saw and had to keep
On going, through the hole the dragon's tail
Had smashed into the building next to you.
Gunn told you there were sewers as he fell
Into unconsciousness. You couldn't speak.
I watched you go. I knew as well as you
That Angel wasn't meant to die yet, though
He'd felt that way. I knew it; irony's
A bitch. That understanding that he'd felt,
It hadn't meant that he was meant to die.
I watched you go and knew it in my gut.
Now you were gonna have to fight alone,
And obviously you weren't gonna suck,
'Cause you, you're good at all this stuff, but now
You didn't have the back-up that you would
Have had before. Two fighters on their own,
They can't be everywhere at once, and I
Was so afraid, that moment that I watched,
Afraid that you were gonna die again.
I couldn't cope 'cause it was all too much:
It felt like part of me was mourning Giles
And slowly realising that he was gone –
Another part still seeing Angel, flames
All burning brightly on my retinas –
And then a final part was tensing at
The thought that in the future you might die –
I couldn't cope. You know the way that Dawn
Takes labels off her soda bottles, tears
Them into shreds? Yeah, that was how I felt.
And even now it hasn't gone away.
I watched you go and that was when he chose,
Osiris chose, to bring me back; it jarred
So badly, waking up, so I fell down,
But then I realised Sadie falling next
To me. I had to catch her by the arms,
'Cause she was shaking, but she shrank away,
Pushed back to curl alone against the wall,
Her eyes squeezed shut and sobs erupting in
Her throat. Eliza and Gurpreet were up –
See, I could see them in the corner of
My eye – they came in closer, touched her back,
But Sadie jerked away and clutched the floor,
Was sick so violently... Gurpreet just stroked
Her hair, Eliza turned and looked to me,
Hissed 'Scheiße' with a sigh the moment that
She saw my face. 'It's bad?' she asked, but I
Could see that Sadie stilled to listen, so
I didn't want to say. I didn't, could
Not blame her. I replied, 'I have to tell
The others.' Not the Slayers, but the gang,
'Cause that was what I meant – I meant to tell
Them first, but Xander, Dawn... They were all
I had to tell, 'cause Andrew knew, just two
Of us from Sunnydale before I had
To be official. That, it made me shut
My eyes again.
“And yet, I told them both.
I played the sister and the sister-mom,
The daughter as I clung to Dawn a while.
And then, eventually, inevitably,
I got a team together for LA,
To find you guys, I hoped, but mainly so
That we could make it safe for more of us
To come. They volunteered; first Sadie came,
She felt she had to, so Eliza and
Gurpreet came too – and there's this other girl,
Krystina, who knows Sadie well because
She's Czech, and Sadie is the only one
Who also took some high school Russian. And
They both play violin, I think. The rest
Are friends from somewhere, 'cept for Rita, she's
A loner. Gets on well with Faith, the times
She visits...
“Oh, my god, no, crap, I meant –
I never told her, Faith, about it all;
She doesn't know that Giles, Angel – she...”
And that's when Buffy stops. Her words once more
Are victims slaughtered while unspoken in
Her throat. She’s lost again, once more bereft
Of knowledge how she might proceed, for this,
She told herself when she began, was meant
To be the end of it, catharsis and
Confession bringing absolution of
Her grief. She knows that she can tell it once,
But more than that? When she sees Faith, just what
Is she supposed to say? She can't control
Herself a second time. And Spike was there
For most of it, he knows, she knows, the way
That Angel fell. She's ripped an unhealed wound,
Wide open, she can see it in his face.
He lies there, quiet, looking at her with
Such sympathy, despite his own pain there
Beneath it all, which makes another crack
Fragment her heart. His hurt refracts in hers,
And hers, she realises, in his. She can't
Now speak another word, so stares instead
At how the shadows wisp along his face
And lets the hands that rest between them twine
Together, not exactly comfortable
As hers rests over his, but welcome still.
The feel of his cool skin and knuckles is
Much better than the roughness of the floor.
He wants to know the ending, how she came
To find him, how she came to lose the group,
And she can understand that, but she knows
The words won't come a second time. She sees
Too far ahead, imagines Faith's dark eyes
Harsh calling on her for another full
And comprehensive recitation so
That she can understand. And if she says
It now she won't be able to tell Faith.
And as it is she really hates it when
She has to speechify; she knows that she's
Not very good. He has to understand.
She shifts and rolls to look above her at
The shadowed ceiling, taking her left hand
From his and swapping in her right to find
His left (he's shifted too). Then forcibly
She shuts her eyes and wills herself again
To sleep. Sleep doesn't come. Inside her mind
All she can hear is British muttering;
Gurpreet was not impressed with Hollywood.
'This looks like Manchester,’ she gripes, despite
A snort from someone else who tells her then,
‘It really don't.’ She says, ‘I could have gone
To Manchester by train, seen Aunty Dee
And Amerdeep, or got my nails done.
Or maybe got a coat.' Another friend
Cuts in, 'What's that you're wearing now?' 'Well, yeah,
Whatever, Mina; 's too thin, innit? Need
A hoodie.' Buffy thought that maybe all
Brit-Asians were this loud, but ages back
Samina nipped that line of thought before
It bloomed completely, told her, 'We're the ones
Who aren't, like, getting chained to desks and shit.
There's gotta be thousands girls out there you'll need
To give more 'n superpowers to get them out
Here fighting evil. Not like most the world
Is living in an MEDC, na?
Where's all of us from proper India,
Or China? Living pretty shitty lives.'
She wouldn't trade her loudmouths for the world,
But still she wonders where the shy girls are,
The ones that Hellmouths turn invisible;
How many are alone in Africa
Or somewhere else, with strength to keep them safe
But nothing else, no way of knowing they
Have sisters? Even strong there's only so
Much force you can defend against. And what
About the other women, people of
The world, without the Slayer power-boost?
She tries to think that she can only fight
One battle at a time, and that the world's
Existence needs to be prioritised,
But then it feels like she should somehow have
The power to do more.
Of course, it's not
As if she's doing well with all the girls
She's got. The memory goes around again
Elise rolls her eyes and says, 'You are
A witch. Why don't you make it warmer for
Yourself?' But then there's scoffing, 'Yeah, good plan,
'Cause Durga and the rest are gonna go
For that.' A sigh and, 'Tja, you see that this
Is why I walk the pagan path. And why
It's good sometimes to be much fatter than
A thirty-six.' 'Elise, you're not fat.'
All banter, chatter, laughter in the night
Too loud and yet she doesn’t tell them so,
Just lets them carry on until in one
Stark second Sadie jerks up straight and speaks
In her most flute-like breathy whisper, sign
That in that moment she’s been struck by her
Prophetic intuition, ‘Something’s there.’
Inside her mind then Buffy hears her own
Reply, that she'll scout on ahead. She sees
It all again, the way she left them as
She headed down the street; she feels the rain
That came so fast and drummed across her back.
She trusted Sadie, so, she thinks, she should
Have led them all together – after all
It's not as though she's ever had much time
For strategy. But something happens when
She has an army, or a troop at least,
That makes her go all General Buffy, makes
Her want to look a little organised.
She comes up to an intersection, hears
The sound of something rushing, breathes a gasp
And turns back to the others, but it's all
Too slow, the rain too loud. She sees it then:
The pack is coming at them, snarling jaws,
Their shapes not fully visible, the din
So loud, feet thundering across the wet
And broken concrete as she tries to call
Her orders, rain now pounding on her head:
Retreat to higher ground, to somewhere safe.
Distraction in the corner of her eye –
A flash of light reflecting on a shock
Of hair? It's nowhere near conclusive, but
It's still enough for maybe five or six
More demons all to blindside her and toss
Her too-frail body hard between them, knock
Her tumbling down some subway stairs and crack
Her ankle hard beneath her as a cry
Escapes her throat to echo in the dark.
That concrete floor was hard beneath her back,
The smell so cold and damp, forgotten ground
Reclaiming tunnels back from the machines,
Reclaiming her, perhaps, if she did not
Get up. It hurt so much, and she could hear
The rain still splashing hard against the steps.
With every second damp crept further through
Her jacket, causing her to shiver, but
That awful voice began to whisper all
The same. If she stayed lying there, then not
A soul would know, her friends would not believe
That she had given up. She had the chance
To jump through the escape hatch, leave it all
Behind. It doesn't come that often, not
To her, and she's resisted every time,
Except back on the tower, when the fates
Agreed to dress up the apocalypse
To let her have a noble sacrifice.
The ceiling up above her head, of Spike's
Apartment, even though it's lighter, feels
The same to her, much less oppressive than
The sky. She might as well have never moved,
Though now she’s here her ankle doesn’t hurt
So much. Could she have stayed there? Let it all
Resolve without her? Let the others work
It out while she stopped thinking, of the dead
And of her duty? She would like to think
That Spike would let her go and leave without
Much blaming her or telling everyone.
She thinks he’d go for it. Hey, maybe this
Is how it's meant to be: she brings the gang
And lets the world be saved. Despite the bull
Osiris pushed in Sadie's mind to say,
She's not all that important. That might make
Some sense with all the years she's fought for. No
Point getting self-obsessed.
Or maybe she's
A coward, letting grief catch up with her,
Too weak to Slay. For all she knows her group
Is dead, all chased and lost and lying as
A group of bloody corpses on the street.
She saw the bodies at the bus station –
Yeah, welcome to Los Angeles, CA.
But what does she do? Lie here crying in
A not-so-warm but still-so-cosy room
That shelters her from all the death outside.
She’s selfish, selfish, selfish taking this
While Giles rots in Scottish soil. More
Than selfish; something like a joke played on
The world that thought she would be useful here.
Her hands come up to shut away her face
And stay there even as she hears the shift
Of Spike and bedclothes, feels his fingertips
So gingerly against her shoulder. She
Is shaking (and she thinks that he is too);
She can’t control the hiccoughs in her throat;
He tugs her round until she’s on her side,
Her bony fingers locked between her face
And all the muscles of his chest, but still
She’s shaking. She can only wonder how
She looks to Scary Goth Queen up above
Her head. No refunds for a front-row seat
At Buffy’s extra special breakdown. No
Exchange; you’ve gotta see the show. Shame this
With her a sobbing wreck curled on the floor
Is really not the one she meant to give.
Illyria has heard, of course she has,
But she is not concerned with present time.
It is the imminence of dreams that grips
Her thoughts and kindles soft a furling wisp
Of fear in her gut. For sleep has found
The mind of Charles Gunn, and now seeks out
The two below her lying on the floor.
She does not sleep, but lately dreams have come
Upon her, fits of painful ecstasy,
Crescendi of the doubts that should not be
Existent in her mind, played perfectly
In time to murmurings that she can hear
From her companions, lost in dreams. In this,
The time when sleep is slowly summoned to
The mortals’ minds, her shell’s eyes have begun
To fail her and mould the frail light
Of the apartment’s candles till the room’s
Black-shadowed corners have become the haunts
Of fey and leering apparitions. She
Cannot believe that they are even less
Mundane than she, but yet she does not know
Whence they do come. Tonight they look on her
With promises of sights more vivid than
Before – the Slayer’s dreams, they say, will strike
Her mind with all the blades and daggers Fred
Once wielded as her emotions, strike
Much deeper than she can anticipate.
What is the cause? What is the cause of this?
(She asks, for panic always is the first
To pierce the soundness of her royal mind.)
She lays blame at the portal; this is a
Phenomenon that should not happen in
This world. The myths of shells, none ever spoke
Of agony as terrible as this.
The echoes and impressions left on cells
That alter her perception, those she had
Anticipated, deemed irrelevant
(And still does not think to outweigh the joy
Of sentient existence), but not this.
The night creeps on and soon not Sleep but Dream
Is heralded by one mere moment’s change.
There is a screaming in her mind, from far
Away; she thinks it is Illyria,
Or the Illyria who she once was,
But no, Illyria would never scream
For something so banal as this, this light
That floods her vision, casts on her the pain
Of turbulent emotion: Who is safe?
Where is her foe? Why shines the light so bright?
The many eyes of Cerberus are lit
With bitter anger, staring up from wounds
Still wet and weeping in the ground, cut through
The light and pouring darkness as the scream
Becomes a roar. And there is too much pain.
The eyes are Angel’s, hollow in his face;
His body just a shell as much as hers,
While snarls and slatherings of Cerberus
Resound and promise she will be consumed –
But maybe she will let him, let him eat,
Let him devour the entire world –
The dream is broken and Illyria
Is breathing hard, released and free for one
Short moment, solved of feeling. She would be
Ashamed of the emotion that she felt,
But to be so would be supposing she
Has flaws, which she does not. Her thoughts are turned
Instead to the more concrete content of
The dream; what did the Slayer see? The past?
Or yet the coming future; does she have
That faculty? What more will she (and will
Illyria) foresee as Night goes on?
But, oh, your academic ponderings
Are rendered moot, Illyria, for on
The visions come, possess you with the night.
Abandon hopes for godhead; long it is
Until you will return to how you were.
Sleep wracks you all; the morning’s far away.
[IV]