A Barely Breathing Story: Chapter Six

[jesterladyfic]

Chapter Six: Veronica and the Musical Theatre Demon

Veronica’s a lot more used to cemeteries than she used to be. It happens when slaying vampires becomes a regular part of life, she reflects. But she hasn’t been in one for awhile. Not since the funeral of the silent girl currently walking beside her, in fact. Which isn’t a bad thing because Veronica’s got a lot to deal with right now. She’s moved to a new town, doing school full time, trying to handle a long-distance relationship, and she’s working part time at a magic supply store for a very exacting store owner.

She doesn’t have time for patrolling, not even if she were a Slayer again. It makes her feel more sympathetic toward Buffy. But then she’s always been able to feel sympathetic toward her - it came with the body-swapping thing.

Still, she’s glad they’re doing this now. She relishes the smooth feel of the stake in her hand and the adrenaline that comes from hunting vampires and she misses it just a little bit. She’s an active person, but she’s usually sneaky. She deals in espionage and hiding in the shadows, uncovering lies and crime, she’s patient and ingenious. But there’s nothing quite like landing a roundhouse kick on a demon, she thinks.

Patrol’s quiet tonight and she doesn’t have to wonder why she’s out here with Buffy instead of Spike. Buffy is avoiding her boyfriend or vampire lover or whatever the two of them are these days. The whole coming back from the dead thing confuses Veronica too.

And she’s got her own problems. It’s not quite as easy being away from Logan as she thought it would be. He’d been so close that she thought time away would do them good. Now she just wants to hold his hand or feel his lips or get into an argument or something. And he’s not obliging her. She can tell he’s giving her space or something and that doesn’t make sense. Not with their track record and his inability to let go. She doesn’t like being the one unsure about the relationship. She doesn’t like the knowledge that she might just not ever be able to be without him. That’s not what college is supposed to be about – she's supposed to be exploring new things and places and herself. Now it seems to be about something else and it bothers her and she doesn’t even know what it is.

So slaying vampires is good. Very good.

She gets a little bit separated from Buffy and when she comes back around the corner she stops dead at the crazy tableau laid out in front of her.

The demons are…singing. So is Buffy. There is choreography and everything.

I’ve been making shows at trading blows, just hoping no one knows that I’ve been going through the motions, walking through the part. Nothing seems to penetrate my heart.

Veronica can’t do anything but stand there and watch as Buffy slays demons and rescues male models with ridiculously good-looking hair and sings her heart out without any apparent expression of emotion at all.

And I just want to be…alive.

The spectacular dust cloud spreads out on the wind around Buffy’s form and Veronica doesn’t know whether to start clapping or cry.

“Um…” she says and she’s never been so tongue-tied.

Buffy whirls around and looks just as surprised as Veronica feels.

“Did I just…”

“Sing like a 1930s starlet? Oh yes.”

“I don’t suppose you know why?”

“You’re the Slayer.”

“So they tell me,” Buffy mutters. “This sounds like a job for Giles and research books. Uh, let’s just keep this to ourselves for awhile, shall we? Like always. Like not talk about subject of said singing.”

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Veronica says, avoiding Buffy’s eyes.

She really doesn’t like not knowing what to say.

“In all fairness,” Buffy says, “I’m not okay with being okay with not being okay.”

“Okay…” Veronica says. “I can get that.”

“Then we’ll just not talk about it?” Buffy persists.

“If that’s what you want. But I’m still curious as to why it was in song.”

“Get in the chorus line,” Buffy says, and they chuckle a little.

Laughter is good too.

Veronica still goes to bed that night with a sinking feeling which is only augmented when they go to the Magic Box next day and everyone else admits to singing as well. Not that she’s sung and that feels a little bit excluding but, then again, she doesn’t really want to sing either.

It’s the strangest thing though watching them all sing about research.

I’ve got a theory that it’s a demon. A dancing demon…uh, something isn’t right there.

Including Anya’s little musical tirade about bunnies.

Until they get to the part where she watches Buffy deliberately sing in circles around the concerned queries of her friends.

What can’t we face if we’re together? What’s in this place that we can’t weather? There’s nothing we can’t face...

Except for bunnies again.

Veronica’s spooked. She wants to go back to her dorm and lock the doors until this just goes away. Apparently you can control it a little bit if you’re the Slayer but Veronica doesn’t want to take any chances and doesn’t even listen to the radio on her way back to school.

She’s a bit tired from her late night especially since she’d done a lot of homework once she’d gotten back so she crawls into bed when she gets in.

She blames her unconscious state for why she picks up her phone when it rings.

“Hung over already?” Logan asks.

“Nap,” she replies, looking at the clock.

She has a class in an hour and she’s thinking about skipping it for some reason that she can’t think of at this particular moment.

“Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay, I got a class anyway.”

“That one professor still being a jerk?”

“I gotta have one, right?” she says, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“I could probably buy him off or something.”

“Great, Veronica Mars: expelled for bribery.”

“Logan Echolls: jailed for bribery,” he retorts.

“Well, you’ll probably feel at home.”

“So long as I got conjugal visits,” he says and she misses him suddenly with such a fire in her chest that it surprises her.

“I miss you,” she says and she doesn’t even realize she’s singing now.

Your beastly car, your snarky quips, your built in bar, your tongue and lips.

“Is this some new form of phone sex?” he asks, sounding bewildered.

She can’t stop herself.

How do we survive when we’ve been pulled apart? It seems like all I’m gonna do is finally break your heart.

“So no on the phone sex then,” he says and she can just picture his face, worried, distracted, confused, and angry.

She goes on and on. She seriously can’t stop. All she does is sing about how much she misses him and doesn’t want to hurt him but doesn’t see how their relationship can last. It’s like that nightmare where you’re naked on stage and you’re late for a test and being chased and getting pulled over and you can’t ever stop yourself or help yourself or do anything other than be in that dream.

It’s a rather nice end, she does have to say. It had started out more as a ballad, but she swears there was an electric violin in there somewhere close to the end and her own voice killed on those high notes in the middle. She’s still absolutely horrified at what she’s done, but at least she did it with style.

“So there’s some sort of singing plague in Sunnydale right now,” she says awkwardly once she’s confirmed that he is still, in fact, on the phone.

“Plague?”

“Okay, Buffy and I were in the cemetery last night and she suddenly burst into song. Then everyone else did it in Magic Box. Now I’ve done it.”

“I guess you’re researching about what it is.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you chose to sing about how we’re not going to be together anymore?”

“I don’t think you get to choose,” she says, ignoring his real question.

“So you really feel that way?”

“Of course I do. What percentage of high school relationships last into college? The odds are not in our favor.”

“That’s never stopped you from doing something before.”

“I don’t always get what I want.”

“But you usually really fight for it.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Uh, no, actually, you’re not.”

“That’s really classy.”

“I don’t need class, I’ve got money,” he says sarcastically, going for the point that always annoys her the most, and she glares at him ineffectually through the phone.

“You know the arrogant jackass routine isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“Neither is the cold feet, non-committal routine.”

“I want to work on this, it’s hard, but instead of letting me communicate my concerns to you and us working on it together, you’re just jumping to conclusions and letting your own insecurities cloud your judgment.”

Dead silence on the line and either she’s alienated him forever or she’s really struck home. She’s hoping for the latter.

“You’ve got a lovely voice,” he says finally.

“…Thanks.”

“Did you know my phone has a new recording feature?”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You delete that right now.”

“I think I need to listen to what you said again.”

“And reevaluate?”

“Something to that effect.”

“Then you can keep it. But then it’s getting deleted forever and I will get Mac to hack into your phone or get Willow to turn you into something nasty, but it is getting deleted.”

“Yes, boss,” he says sarcastically and hangs up the phone and she can’t really blame him.

She puts her head in her hands and wishes so much for something…anything other than this.

She’s not sure what just happened. Did she just irreparably damage their relationship? She’s going to kill whatever is causing this singing thing. Too much honesty is not a good thing.

Spike agrees with her later that night when she joins him outside the Magic Box.

“You get caught in the Broadway net too?” he asks.

“Big time. Laid out in the hot sun and gutted.”

“Practically dusted over here.”

“Was it Buffy you sang to?”

“Who else? Started blathering on about wanting to rest in peace and would she just make up her bloody mind already and something about telling her secrets to a dead man.”

“Ouch.”

“You?”

“Oh, the usual…’I miss you so much but I don’t know how we can make it when we’re so far apart.’ ”

“We’re in for it now, Private Eye.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I tried so bloody hard not to press her, to let her heal up naturally. Let her come to me if she wants it. Then I go and bollocks the whole thing up.”

“It’s a musical compulsion.”

“Truth’s a bitch, that’s why I use it.”

“I guess you are really evil.”

“To the core, pet.”

He doesn’t convince her, but that’s okay because she’d rather be friends with an evil vampire than some of the humans she’s known. Like Madison.

Either way, there’s a new kinship between them and their current states of lyrically-induced unhappiness.

“Where’s Buffy tonight?”

“Training. Thought I’d scout around for some info.”

“I got a shift in a minute.”

“Just don’t get Demon-girl all started up about what genre you’ve been singing. Gave me a bloody headache.”

“Got it.”

He leaves and she goes inside where she bumps into Tara just coming out of the restricted section, singing, and looking upset.

Veronica looks around in surprise. Giles is singing too and Buffy and Willow are standing up by the register not even noticing.

You know I've been through hell. Willow, don’t you see? There’ll be nothing left of me.

Believe me I don't want to go. And it'll grieve me cause I love you so, but we both know.

I’m just standing in the way.

I just wish I could stay. Wish I could stay. Wish I could stay.

“Are you okay?” she asks Tara when the other girl’s notes fade away, taking a moment to really appreciate her vocal talents.

“Willow- she did a spell.”

“What kind of spell?”

“To make me forget. I was just home and-and Dawn told me we’d been fighting and I knew the resurrection spell made me worried, but she said we were yelling and I didn’t remember. And I-I found this under my pillow.”

She points to the dried flower on her shirt.

“What is it?”

“Lethe’s Bramble. A spell of forgetting. She took my mind, my free will. Glory did that before.”

Veronica nods and pulls Tara into a hug. She remembers Dawn telling her something about that and she knows all too well what someone else’s ego and desires can do to free will, even without magic.

“I’m sorry, Tara.”

“I-I don’t know what to do. I can’t do this.”

“I’ll help you if I can.”

Suddenly her own love problems don’t seem so bad. Logan would never do something like that to her.

Anya beckons to her and Veronica gets to work and for awhile it’s a little bit peaceful though there’s awkwardness all around. Then the door smashes open and Spike brings in a man with a puppet head.

“Puppet demon?” she asks Anya.

“Looks like,” Anya says briskly.

The demon lets out a surprisingly lucid and detailed confession and Buffy sighs.

“Dawn’s in trouble. Must be Tuesday.”

Veronica doesn’t get the argument that follows. She can understand Buffy being uncomfortable around Spike and him wanting to give her space. She can even understand Giles wanting to make Buffy stand on her own two feet. But she doesn’t understand why he doesn’t just say so and why no one else is questioning him. Is she the only one actually listening to what the people around her are singing?

So Buffy goes on her own. And Veronica would follow her only she knows she wouldn’t be that much help and she’s got work to do anyway and closing the shop down during business hours except in the event of an apocalypse is pretty much an apocalypse in Anya’s eyes.

Except they do end up going after her and she insists on going along and participates in their little musical walk.

I think this line’s mostly filler.

Okay, not much. But she’s got her own songs to be singing.

We are caught in the fire, the point of no return. And we will walk through the fire and let it burn. Let it burn. Let it burn.

They get to the Bronze and Buffy’s battling puppet demons and that’s another one for the diary really.

Then Buffy sings.

Life’s a show and we all play our parts. And when the music starts we open up our hearts.

It’s beautiful and it’s hard and Veronica feels like maybe this is good because nobody knows much of what Buffy’s thinking and feeling lately. Even her little number in the graveyard hadn’t really told Veronica anything she didn’t already know. And Buffy’s other friends are the ones who need to hear this. That’s her opinion anyway.

Still my friends don’t know why I ignore, the million things or more, I should be dancing for.

And then the kicker.

There was no pain. No fear, no doubt, till they pulled me out of heaven…so that's my refrain. I live in hell cause I've been expelled from heaven. I think I was in heaven.

Veronica watches Willow’s face and Xander’s surprise and Giles and Anya and Tara and Dawnie up on the stage and she knows that there is something broken here. Something so very wrong. And Buffy’s going to let herself burn.

So give me something to sing about. Please. Give me something.

She starts to move forward. Why doesn’t someone else do something? But there’s a hand on her arm and a black and white form blurs past her and catches the smoking Slayer, stopping her cold.

Life’s not a song. Life isn’t bliss. Life is just this: it’s living. You'll get along. The pain that you feel you only can heal by living. You have to go on living. So one of us is living.

Buffy stares up at Spike, and Veronica knows the look of relief and despair on her face.

The demon entertains them with a little song after Xander confesses to being the summoner and, boy, does it look like Giles is going to give him a talking to. If he doesn’t, she sure as hell is.

Where do we go from here?

Veronica sings with the rest because she really wants to know too. She wants to know why and how.

There’s harmony and chorus and voices in unison but there’s nothing unified about this group. Little factions within, maybe, but nothing that could be construed as a mighty demon fighting group or a family like Veronica’s always thought of them as. She’s never felt more of an outsider and she hates it and she hates them for it.

She comes to herself as the voices fade away and she walks out into the alley. She’ll check in with them later but at the moment she’ regretting her choice to come to Sunnydale.

The curtains close on a kiss… she can hear them in the distance and the musical reality comes into full Technicolor beauty before her as she spies Spike and Buffy kissing in the alley. She smiles. One right thing to happen out of this mess. At least she hopes so.

When she unlocks her dorm room she grabs her taser because there’s someone sitting on her bed.

“Easy, Mars,” comes Logan’s voice out of the dark. “See what flirting with your RA can get me?”

“Logan? What are you doing here?” she asks, flipping on the light.

“I’m coming to Sunnydale. Just enrolled.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“But why? I thought you didn’t believe I wanted this.”

She’s feeling raw and exposed and she really doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. Her faith in humanity and relationships is at an all time low; despite the making out she’s just witnessed.

“I listened to the song again. Most of it was actually about how much you missed me. I figured that meant something.”

“But you shouldn’t come here just for me,” she says slowly, hardly believing that this is where the conversation is headed.

“Like you shouldn’t come here just for them? Pardon me, my sweet, but I think my reasons are better.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?”

“I’ll transfer somewhere fabulous.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m not. You’re it for me, Veronica. You just have to decide what you want. I thought my giving you space would do that, but maybe what you really need is a relationship in the real world away from our past.”

“But your schooling…”

“Doesn’t matter to me like it matters to you and I can figure it out here just as well as anywhere else. Besides, I like the campus and the classes. It’s near enough to Neptune I can manage my money. And you matter to me most of all.”

“I…”

“Do you want to be with me?” he asks, standing up and looking vulnerable and strong all at the same time.

She loves him for that. For giving it all and planning ahead. For being what she can’t or doesn’t allow herself to be.

“Get over here and find out,” she tells him.