BTVS Oneshot: Shut its Mouth on the World
Oct. 1st, 2009 11:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jesterladyficTitle: Shut its Mouth on the World
Rating: PG
Summary: Buffy's thoughts during S6. I wrote this to be about what she was thinking during Spike's 'every night I save you' speech, but it gradually flowed into what it would be through the whole season. And because I crave happy endings, the nasty stuff didn't happen.
Disclaimer: I don't own BTVS. The title is by Charles Williams
Shut its Mouth on the World
She could hear his words. They were beautiful words, flowing in just the right cadence. Words designed to melt the heart without any such intent by the speaker. She dully supposed that what she’d overheard Giles saying was true. He was a poet.
She wondered why the words had no effect on her. Was it because of who was speaking them? If it was another
of his kind, the one, standing in his place, would she succumb and feel? Was it because of what he was? Did his
words have no merit because there couldn’t be any basis for them? No, what she’d learned while she’d been away
had taught her differently. The problem was with her. It was with this world, this harsh place where everything she’d
ever loved had become her enemy. All her friends' voices were a grating sound, needy and complaining and loud and
full of humanity, sucking life. How ironic that the one who needed to suck life only ever seemed to give what they took.
She watched his face, full of emotion. Could something dead look that alive? Could someone without a
conscience seem to be the only one who knew the right thing to do? It seemed so. Life’s cruel tricks. It took being
dead to understand them. She knew that now. He’d always known it. Now she was equal to him, yet he was more
alive than her. Again, so ironic.
Despite his words, they were quieting to her. The jarring noise that surrounded her every moment was less
around him, even when he talked for hours. It was talk designed for her, not himself, as everyone else’s was. It was
interesting and distracting and yet, never veered from the fact that she needed those things and he understood that. It
was terrifying. At least, it should be. But she had no energy to be afraid. No emotions to feel. She was numb.
If only they knew how much she tried. If only they knew why she had to try, but how could she say it? That much
she remembered from her life before. You couldn’t hurt people you loved with their mistakes. Maybe, in some small
way, it was for herself. It was sacrilege to speak of it except to him. It would have hurt. Maybe she should do it then. It
would be painful, but it would be feeling something. And she couldn’t feel anything.
She was determined not to go that route. Not to hurt to feel. It was easier with him, silent, talkative, always
present, never insisting, asking, needing, like they did. Their constant need for validation, praise, comfort, justification
was horrible. Some seemed to feel it more than others, and those would be the ones she’d always been closest to.
That almost hurt. But she wasn’t there yet.
She would be. She could tell. The numb feeling would be gone and then there would be pain and emptiness
and how she would deal with that she didn’t know. It didn’t seem feasible. Except when she looked at him. Hadn’t
he gone through something like this before himself? No more nonsense about the person being dead, she knew
that whoever he had been before was still there, still had a chance, and that person was the one who always talked to
her when she came to him. Not to say it was the same it had been, not that she would have known, but she knew
anyway. She’d been there herself. She’d seen the secrets and what many people would have envied of her, she
regretted more than anything in the world.
Would it end if she ended? Would she find herself where she longed to be? Funny how one could want
something with every fibre of their being and still not feel a thing. But thoughts like those were dangerous and she
turned from them. He spread a hesitant hand in her direction as if sensing her thoughts and she mustered all her
strength for a small smile of reassurance. It was hard, but easier for him.
One day she might be able to tell him what he was doing, how he might regret not saving her, but that he had. He
didn’t need to imagine saving her every night, he did it in actuality. She swore to tell him one day.
Then the pain and the reality was more than she could bear. Why did there have to be matter and glaring heat
and need, such need? It was worse than hell. No wonder Angel had been driven mad. No, she was more than mad,
she was beaten and dry and wrathful and emptier than the desert and twice as full. She was a paradox unto herself
and she smiled grimly. Wouldn’t Giles be proud? But then he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t here.
She was abandoned and that’s what she wanted because people made her hurt. People needed her to give
what she did not have. Yet, when they did go, it was just as unbearable. How could she stand to be alone with these
thoughts, with the knowledge that she now had? How often she was driven to seek him. And he never questioned,
never needed to know. It was almost heaven. No, it wasn’t, but obviously the best this hellhole had to offer. Not that
she could fault him for that. He wasn’t even supposed to know anything about heaven. Yet he was hers.
One day, he made her laugh. It was like waking up from a restless sleep that was deeper than a dark ravine.
Like breathing freely after being underwater. Like telling the truth or slaying a hell god. And the best part was that it
wasn’t a ploy. Wasn’t something designed to maker her conform to the picture he had of her or the way he wanted
her to be. That had been too often. She’d tell him that too. One day.
She still couldn’t talk of it to anybody but him, but now she could talk. She could smile and slay and dance and be
responsible. It now felt right to do that, but she couldn’t talk about it. The resentful glances she received were
resented as they were received. What right had they to judge when they had brought this about? She pushed
thoughts like that to the back of her mind. Humans, that’s what they were, no matter their powers. They didn’t know
the grand purpose or the smaller, divine secrets. Not their fault. But he knew.
She wished herself dead less and less. She found herself glad to be among the living. Strange how he was counted among the living. Even the foremost among them. He could never truly be dead to her again. He who had made her live. It was so hard. She doubted she’d ever be free of it being hard. Never could she forget what she’d learned. She didn’t want to. She was at the point where the pain of remembrance was worth the lessons learned. Oh, it had been wrong. She shouldn’t have had to relive these lessons here, but treasured them in the arms of true peace. Now she had his arms. Not to be compared, but that wasn’t his fault and what did it matter anyway?
Then she could tell him. He smiled like his heart was beating, but she didn’t even care if it did. It wasn’t
important. He’d never needed validation before, well, never showed the need, but she could see how important it was
to him. And it made her feel better to want to give it to him. He’d been a good teacher. His touch was passionate,
and it gave her fire and strength to want to live. But it didn’t take away from his words or her desire or the steady
presence he gave. She didn’t know if some things could ever happen. But then she’d never known she could feel
alive again.
They walked, handfast, and she found she was living a life worth living.
Rating: PG
Summary: Buffy's thoughts during S6. I wrote this to be about what she was thinking during Spike's 'every night I save you' speech, but it gradually flowed into what it would be through the whole season. And because I crave happy endings, the nasty stuff didn't happen.
Disclaimer: I don't own BTVS. The title is by Charles Williams
Shut its Mouth on the World
She could hear his words. They were beautiful words, flowing in just the right cadence. Words designed to melt the heart without any such intent by the speaker. She dully supposed that what she’d overheard Giles saying was true. He was a poet.
She wondered why the words had no effect on her. Was it because of who was speaking them? If it was another
of his kind, the one, standing in his place, would she succumb and feel? Was it because of what he was? Did his
words have no merit because there couldn’t be any basis for them? No, what she’d learned while she’d been away
had taught her differently. The problem was with her. It was with this world, this harsh place where everything she’d
ever loved had become her enemy. All her friends' voices were a grating sound, needy and complaining and loud and
full of humanity, sucking life. How ironic that the one who needed to suck life only ever seemed to give what they took.
She watched his face, full of emotion. Could something dead look that alive? Could someone without a
conscience seem to be the only one who knew the right thing to do? It seemed so. Life’s cruel tricks. It took being
dead to understand them. She knew that now. He’d always known it. Now she was equal to him, yet he was more
alive than her. Again, so ironic.
Despite his words, they were quieting to her. The jarring noise that surrounded her every moment was less
around him, even when he talked for hours. It was talk designed for her, not himself, as everyone else’s was. It was
interesting and distracting and yet, never veered from the fact that she needed those things and he understood that. It
was terrifying. At least, it should be. But she had no energy to be afraid. No emotions to feel. She was numb.
If only they knew how much she tried. If only they knew why she had to try, but how could she say it? That much
she remembered from her life before. You couldn’t hurt people you loved with their mistakes. Maybe, in some small
way, it was for herself. It was sacrilege to speak of it except to him. It would have hurt. Maybe she should do it then. It
would be painful, but it would be feeling something. And she couldn’t feel anything.
She was determined not to go that route. Not to hurt to feel. It was easier with him, silent, talkative, always
present, never insisting, asking, needing, like they did. Their constant need for validation, praise, comfort, justification
was horrible. Some seemed to feel it more than others, and those would be the ones she’d always been closest to.
That almost hurt. But she wasn’t there yet.
She would be. She could tell. The numb feeling would be gone and then there would be pain and emptiness
and how she would deal with that she didn’t know. It didn’t seem feasible. Except when she looked at him. Hadn’t
he gone through something like this before himself? No more nonsense about the person being dead, she knew
that whoever he had been before was still there, still had a chance, and that person was the one who always talked to
her when she came to him. Not to say it was the same it had been, not that she would have known, but she knew
anyway. She’d been there herself. She’d seen the secrets and what many people would have envied of her, she
regretted more than anything in the world.
Would it end if she ended? Would she find herself where she longed to be? Funny how one could want
something with every fibre of their being and still not feel a thing. But thoughts like those were dangerous and she
turned from them. He spread a hesitant hand in her direction as if sensing her thoughts and she mustered all her
strength for a small smile of reassurance. It was hard, but easier for him.
One day she might be able to tell him what he was doing, how he might regret not saving her, but that he had. He
didn’t need to imagine saving her every night, he did it in actuality. She swore to tell him one day.
Then the pain and the reality was more than she could bear. Why did there have to be matter and glaring heat
and need, such need? It was worse than hell. No wonder Angel had been driven mad. No, she was more than mad,
she was beaten and dry and wrathful and emptier than the desert and twice as full. She was a paradox unto herself
and she smiled grimly. Wouldn’t Giles be proud? But then he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t here.
She was abandoned and that’s what she wanted because people made her hurt. People needed her to give
what she did not have. Yet, when they did go, it was just as unbearable. How could she stand to be alone with these
thoughts, with the knowledge that she now had? How often she was driven to seek him. And he never questioned,
never needed to know. It was almost heaven. No, it wasn’t, but obviously the best this hellhole had to offer. Not that
she could fault him for that. He wasn’t even supposed to know anything about heaven. Yet he was hers.
One day, he made her laugh. It was like waking up from a restless sleep that was deeper than a dark ravine.
Like breathing freely after being underwater. Like telling the truth or slaying a hell god. And the best part was that it
wasn’t a ploy. Wasn’t something designed to maker her conform to the picture he had of her or the way he wanted
her to be. That had been too often. She’d tell him that too. One day.
She still couldn’t talk of it to anybody but him, but now she could talk. She could smile and slay and dance and be
responsible. It now felt right to do that, but she couldn’t talk about it. The resentful glances she received were
resented as they were received. What right had they to judge when they had brought this about? She pushed
thoughts like that to the back of her mind. Humans, that’s what they were, no matter their powers. They didn’t know
the grand purpose or the smaller, divine secrets. Not their fault. But he knew.
She wished herself dead less and less. She found herself glad to be among the living. Strange how he was counted among the living. Even the foremost among them. He could never truly be dead to her again. He who had made her live. It was so hard. She doubted she’d ever be free of it being hard. Never could she forget what she’d learned. She didn’t want to. She was at the point where the pain of remembrance was worth the lessons learned. Oh, it had been wrong. She shouldn’t have had to relive these lessons here, but treasured them in the arms of true peace. Now she had his arms. Not to be compared, but that wasn’t his fault and what did it matter anyway?
Then she could tell him. He smiled like his heart was beating, but she didn’t even care if it did. It wasn’t
important. He’d never needed validation before, well, never showed the need, but she could see how important it was
to him. And it made her feel better to want to give it to him. He’d been a good teacher. His touch was passionate,
and it gave her fire and strength to want to live. But it didn’t take away from his words or her desire or the steady
presence he gave. She didn’t know if some things could ever happen. But then she’d never known she could feel
alive again.
They walked, handfast, and she found she was living a life worth living.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 06:38 pm (UTC)I found this moving. Thanks for writing it.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-02 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-02 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-02 11:43 pm (UTC)Lovely exploration of Buffy's unhappiness in season 6 and her growing will to live thanks in part to Spike.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-03 12:55 am (UTC)